It's the second time Sollux has found himself listening to things he knows he has no real right to hear, but the thought alone doesn't stop his aurals from picking up the conversation regardless. The first time had been by simple accident, an exchange overheard in passing. Nothing wrong with that, it was their fault for letting themselves be overheard, that was all. This time, though, it doesn't feel right. Nothing feels right in any sense of the term. Things he doesn't need to know, things he's not sure he wants to know at all. Dirty laundry aired out that he's sure none of them would be pleased to know he heard, witnessed, knew.

He thinks it embarrassing, fascinating as it is, and the knowledge of these personal secrets made public threatens to make Sollux sick with a strange kind of shame.

It's around then that he notices the change, the shift in conversation, attention, and focus. Near. They'd noticed him, one or the whole bunch, but the myriaad of colours he can make out tells him that the blob of white that is Near has taken note, has turned to him. If that wasn't a cue to something, he didn't know what was. For what reason, though, he can't quite figure out. Help? Assistance? What could a blind troll really do, beyond act as standard cannon fodder? He had no Weapon, Matt was lost somewhere in the warren of caves. He couldn't fight like Mello could, wouldn't even stand a chance with his stature as it was. Did the twit cotton-top expect him to throw himself under the four-wheeled public transit device on a bloody fucking whim?

Midway through a small and growing fit of indignation, it hits him, and he's left to gape in realization for all of a moment before the urgency of the situation drives him toaction, scrambling to his feet clunkily, slow from soreness and sluggish from the caves' own unique miasma.

Near is a Weapon. Sollux didn't have much time before the other two noticed.