Kento imagines a nice, pleasant sky. Leaning a bit towards cloudy, but not so much so that it dampens one 's mood. He imagines rolling clouds, with whimsical shapes that harkens him back to a time where someone once had labeled the clouds alongside him. He imagines quiet lighting that does not burn, but instead warms. He imagines a thin shirt on his frame- maybe tackily patterned. A sunglasses upon his eyes instead of his usual fare, a bit big around the edges. He imagines the handle of a suitcase within his palm, warm and solid. The call of the wind upon his hair, the relaxing of his shoulders- the exhaling of a breath he 'd been holding on for so long and-

'Nanamin, are you listening? '

Kento reinhales that breathe so quickly he almost choked.

'I was not, ' Kento says dryly, knowing that his reply doesn 't matter in the least because Gojo Satoru is Gojo Satoru and is the force of nature itself. Heeding to no one 's call but his own.