His eyes flickered from the thin figure on the bed to the bottle of untouched soup on the nightstand. How typical it was of Mukuro to deny his own stomach for his pride. Releasing a small sigh, Gokudera rubbed the back of his neck wearily as he closed the door to the sleeping quarter behind him. “Perché non mangi?” He asked, already knowing the answer. “Non hai mangiato per due giorni. Hai intenzione di morire di fame te stesso?”
Walking over to the small table, he picked up the plastic feeder, an unreadable expression on his face. It was cold to the touch. But of course it was. He’d left it hot early this morning since he’d suspected it would cool down to an appropriate temperature by the time the Mist woke up. Guess his attentiveness was all in vain. “Io vado a riscaldare di nuovo su,” he stated coolly as a red flame spread from his fingertips to the bottle, “e si sta andando a berlo, quindi girare e mi faccia.”
no subject
Walking over to the small table, he picked up the plastic feeder, an unreadable expression on his face. It was cold to the touch. But of course it was. He’d left it hot early this morning since he’d suspected it would cool down to an appropriate temperature by the time the Mist woke up. Guess his attentiveness was all in vain. “Io vado a riscaldare di nuovo su,” he stated coolly as a red flame spread from his fingertips to the bottle, “e si sta andando a berlo, quindi girare e mi faccia.”