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Good.

[ Short, blunt, and full of a kind of gratitude Mako can't express properly except through another pointed burst of warmth. ]

...try to accept it, I was trying to say. I had to make my peace with it. That's what she said I had to do, and I don't know if I have. Chloe was in the dream for years. One of the first people to arrive. She knew how to handle it.

[ He's saying this so badly, is the problem, like he always does, and Mako spares a moment to curse his own vocabulary, whatever filter exists between his brain and his mouth that makes the right thing so difficult to say. ]

My point is: in an ideal world we'd just try our best not to hurt people while accepting that we might, and that we probably aren't at fault unless we didn't do a damn [ which is not quite what he says, but the curse doesn't translate from his own world, stays in his native language rather than translating ] thing to try and stop it. But it's shitty of me to say that to you when I can't put my money where my mouth is and do the same thing.

[ I'd feel the same way, he is trying to say, dancing around the words because he can't fill them with the meaning he wants. ]

[Manabu swallows against the stubborn knot in his throat, ears burning as Mako goes on. huh, burning: finally something other than sickening cold.

his eyes wince at Mako's curse, expression growing more fraught after the fact. it's hard to keep up with Mako's true meaning when the buzzing of his own thoughts are getting to that point where his mind is ready to cut the cable and shut it all down, but he tries.

because he can kind of hear Bruce's voice behind Mako's words.

feeling despair bubbling back up prompts him to shift again, bringing a hand to his face, pressing his knuckles against his stinging, good eye. he's nine again, trying to come to terms with having watched his father drift away to oblivion. he's also eighteen again, catching the baseball Mamoru tossed his way, milliseconds before the gunfire shredded through his uniform. twenty again, pulling up to the gas station, tracing Bruce's last signal...

the circumstances now are so different, so why are the feelings the same? maybe it's because it's all he has to compare it to. he doesn't know how to make it stop.]

...No one. Can. [his tone bottoms out, and he sighs, withdrawing his hand from his face, his expression growing withdrawn.] That's...what's the same. For everyone.

...what, accepting that?

[ Mako's so fucking helpless against all of this, is the problem. That's what he hates the most: that Manabu is falling apart next to him and that Mako has nothing to offer him to fix it because he hasn't worked hard enough or smart enough to solve this place, or maybe it's a problem that can't be solved. What's the solution here? Is it what Wu says, banding together against the darkness? Is it something beyond his reach, some switch that makes it so that they can't hurt each other, so that Manabu doesn't have to fray at the seams because he did something they're all probably going to do?

What can he do except push heat into the air and watch Manabu fight with his own emotions, knowing what he's feeling?

Mako sucks in a small, hard breath and shifts closer, dropping his arm around Manabu's shoulders, tugging him close all at once. ]

[dimly, Manabu thinks it that no one can do anything to stop it, with 'it' becoming a more nebulous, hard-to-grasp notion the longer he sits there in the growing brain fog. he lets it go with an unintelligible mumble, giving up on talking now that there's fewer thoughts to voice.

with a little tug, Manabu slumps against Mako, his chin dropping to his chest. it's not unlike when that Waste died, except this isn't preceded by an outburst - not an immediate one, anyway. all that got taken care of by Childe's work.

it's easier to relent to gestures than try to think or feel anymore, and feeling a little warm is a lot better.]

[ Silence falls like leaves around them, bringing with it the rustle of breath and fabric, the quiet moans of the little ghouls at the nearby lamp, and the sounds of the city itself. They're nothing like the sounds of Republic City, none of the hum of Satomobiles, because of course they aren't home. They're in an alien city with merciless daily rhythms, blood-soaked and terrible.

How is anyone supposed to adjust to that? What is anyone supposed to do in the face of turning into a monster?

Depends, a little voice in Mako says, and he lets out a quiet sigh. ]

...what do you want?

[funny question. Manabu asks himself that a lot, but...not right now. he can't think about it right now.

it's probably worth asking, since Manabu would've likely wound up asleep without a prompt. he lifts his head, opening his eyes slowly and staring at the cobblestone street ahead of them.

what...should he be doing? what was he doing...before Mako asked to see him?

his eye flicks down to the gun in his lap. the gun...

ah. that's right. the saber. the harmonica. all his stuff...

while sitting up:] Lost it. Harm...mm, harmonica. Ssstill lookin'. Mm.

Your partner's old harmonica?

[ That little dented thing, small and old and so heavy with meaning?

No wonder he's so lost.

It can't be the reason, not entirely, but Mako can see the meaning behind it—has been clinging to the vestiges of his own lost home and watching them slip away for good at the same time. At least he is anchored here by the people he loves. Manabu doesn't have any of that.

He tightens his arm a little bit, frowning quietly at his own knees. ]

Not exactly what I meant, but. Did it wash up with you?

[what else could Mako possibly mean at a time like this! can't think about the options.

the arm over his shoulders keeps him anchored in place despite the minute effort to move away. he's also stayed by the question and the effort to think on it.]

...No? [washed up? what? his expression scrunches.] Didn't wash up.

With you.

[ The follow-up idiot isn't spoken, exactly, but it hovers there, affectionate and rough as Mako tugs on his shoulders a little bit. ]

Have you had it since you woke up here?

[Manabu is wobbled a bit by the tugging, head bobbing as he frowns and makes a visible effort to think on the question.]

Nn, no. N-nothing. Gotta look.

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