[A soft noise escapes his throat when Rohan's methodical work makes its way to his hair; it's never really occurred to him that he might be sensitive there, particularly around the places where his horns have grown in. And yet it's such a departure from the violence, such a contrast to the kind of recoveries he's used to. The aftermath is supposed to ache and burn with the sting of injured skin; it's supposed to linger and cling like a haze. Rohan's cloth is the same as his movements: gentle and careful. Jotaro knows he ought to be tougher than this, bear up stronger than this, but just this one time he doesn't want to. Just this one time all he wants to do is sit and try to memorize the feeling of being taken care of, how different it is from the norm.]
If it's...in the way, you can. My hat...take it off.
[The man was single. That was a single home, he had a dog. Maybe he didn't have a family. Maybe there isn't anyone who will miss him. Does that make it better or worse, that he's dead?
He thinks of Josuke and the bone graveyard, and his throat closes up; just once, for one moment, his whole body lurches with a wet strangled sob that rattles in his chest and interrupts Rohan's steady movements.]
no subject
If it's...in the way, you can. My hat...take it off.
[The man was single. That was a single home, he had a dog. Maybe he didn't have a family. Maybe there isn't anyone who will miss him. Does that make it better or worse, that he's dead?
He thinks of Josuke and the bone graveyard, and his throat closes up; just once, for one moment, his whole body lurches with a wet strangled sob that rattles in his chest and interrupts Rohan's steady movements.]