[Well, that much — yes, that gets him to hesitate. He stays quiet, gradually becoming hyperaware of all the little stimuli he'd been ignoring before in his anger. It's cold outside; his eyes hurt. He can feel the first twinges of a headache beneath the brim of his hat. Star is vibrating somewhere inside him like a leaf in the wind, acutely attuned to his distress but with no means of protecting him from an injury with no external source. The sounds of the forest are loud, even though the monsters have gone silent.

He's so glad there's still noise. He's glad he can feel Giorno breathing. His own is a mess; he couldn't use Hamon right now even if he tried, and he remembers absently that he hasn't been practicing. He could use a drink. He still wishes Polnareff were here.]

...You know...you're not responsible for him. Right?

[He hesitates again.]

Because if I don't run away from you. ...You're going to hear about him.