Hmmm...? [ canting his head to the side at geto's observation like nothing so much as a perplexed dog, toji considers the notion with the same detached calculation he uses for every other aspect of his life. like he's thinking about someone else's life, just observing the facts of it to come to some conclusion.

does being alive cause him more grief? that makes him want to laugh a bit, actually. what is grief, anyway? strumming his fingers thoughtfully against his knee, he mulls a bit longer before offering an answer. ]

You want me to take that personally or something? Might have to disappoint you. Good for you, you know? Enjoy it. You're in good company.

[ the zenin, gojo satoru, his son. toji is past caring about who treats his suffering like a spectator sport. some days he's even one of them. ]

Grief's a funny thing, though. It's weight. It's something you carry. And at first it's so heavy it makes you hurt. Everywhere, all the time, and you can't move because it pins you down and there's no air. There's nothing but the weight. You think it'll kill you, you want it to kill you. But it doesn't, and bit by bit, you can move again.

And eventually you get used to it. You can walk, you can run. Sometimes you can even laugh. Sometimes you forget you're even carrying it. But you don't. It's always there. And once in a while it catches up and you remember how fucking heavy it is.

[ cracking a smile, toji plants a hand on geto's head to ruffle his hair like they're friends, like geto didn't just tell him he loves to see toji suffer. ]

There's never any more or less grief. I'm just real fucking tired. But you're welcome to enjoy it if that's what makes your weight easier to carry.