hearing these words made niji wish he could be a fucking brother for once in his pathetic life. he’s done nothing for sanji-- nothing bad, but nothing good, and god he deserved any bitterness directed towards him and any emotion that would lead his younger brother to killing him at some point. he wouldn’t doubt that he was capable now; he’s grown up and, if we’re being perfectly honest here... niji was proud of him. he’d grown up to be sensible and strong-willed ( from what he could tell ) and that made him glad to know that this boy... no, man was his brother.
if he could, he’d hug him, telling him some sort of false hope that niji could never believe in no matter how hard he’d try. he wanted to be there for him-- a rock, as he should be, as every sibling should be, but... there was no way sanji would ever appreciate it now. despair was the only thing niji could fall into with light so far from his sight. he sticks to that edge where he can’t fall; too close, too close, but he won’t give in and crave the praise that only someone desperate for love would go for. he’s close to a breaking point, but he had to stay strong and firm in his position... he doubted reiju or yonji would resist it, so he had to be the one.
a deep inhale, and quiet exhale. so many things he could say but none of them could ever come from his mouth. he’s quiet, an expression of vague distress ( and guilt, if you searched hard enough for it ) as he bit his lip, turning the color to white. he knew this place was the worst for sanji and just knowing he was back made him feel sick. maybe he should’ve gone with him.
“ ...yeah, i can definitely see why. ” no, not entirely. he didn’t see everything that’d happen to sanji and he wasn’t the third born, but the second born. he wasn’t the one that had people whispering behind his back or the constant disapproving eyes. he was the second born and he was a hopeful, and he was obedient to a fucking fault and he hated it. even if it was because he couldn’t do anything else, he hated being a trained killer.
he didn’t say those words with the expected, heavy sympathy but with the hint understanding that’d speak louder than any pity could. it spoke of a similar disgust in the vinsmokes-- the germa 66 and everything about the life he’d lived. you could never wash blood off your hands and it was even harder to escape a life you’ve had for your entirety. freedom was just a concept to niji.
it took a moment for the taller of the two to figure out what else to say, uncertainty on how to approach making things more difficult than they may have been. he wasn’t the conversationalist that ichiji was-- he was the more simple, stoic type of person. he liked schedules, straightforward situations, and having things to occupy him rather than complicated things like this. another deep breath. “ ...wanna play a game or something? ” a lighter topic. he didn’t even have to agree to it; it was just a suggestion to take both of their minds off of what’s going on.
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