[ not this time - he stays on his feet once he's on solid ground again, and only hopes that Abbacchio doesn't mention the hiccup. He's got a hundred questions to ask: did Abbacchio see the same thing he did, or feel it, or however he should express that meeting? Does Abbacchio remember what happened to him? And if he does, has he already made the connection upon seeing Bucciarati that the same thing happened to him? All at once, there's a mess on his hands, entirely separate from the one he left in Giorno's, and he needs to figure out how he's going to handle it. These topics aren't ones he's eager to broach. Not with any of the team, and especially not with Abbacchio.
However, resolving the situation takes a backseat, at least for the moment, to the simple relief of reuniting with the dead - someone he hadn't even been able to say goodbye to. There had been no time to properly process the loss; Bucciarati hadn't given himself any. Now, standing in front of Abbacchio again, it presses on him again. It's a strange and bittersweet feeling. The guilt he feels doesn't fade, but there's an undeniable human happiness just to see him again, though it shows only poorly on his face. ]
I could say the same to you.
[ he could say something light - I didn't take you for the treasure-hunting type, maybe - but it still feels irreverent. After all, this is his fault, at least partially. They both know what happened to him. Don't they? He presses his lips together, staring up at Abbacchio seriously. There's no dark stain on his clothing, no leaking hole in his chest peeking up from his collar. Even so: ]
no subject
However, resolving the situation takes a backseat, at least for the moment, to the simple relief of reuniting with the dead - someone he hadn't even been able to say goodbye to. There had been no time to properly process the loss; Bucciarati hadn't given himself any. Now, standing in front of Abbacchio again, it presses on him again. It's a strange and bittersweet feeling. The guilt he feels doesn't fade, but there's an undeniable human happiness just to see him again, though it shows only poorly on his face. ]
I could say the same to you.
[ he could say something light - I didn't take you for the treasure-hunting type, maybe - but it still feels irreverent. After all, this is his fault, at least partially. They both know what happened to him. Don't they? He presses his lips together, staring up at Abbacchio seriously. There's no dark stain on his clothing, no leaking hole in his chest peeking up from his collar. Even so: ]
Are you in pain?