[ for more than a handful of heartbeats, he only levels a dark look at Scott from across the table, rough hands rubbing together to release some pent-up tension, the grind of dry calluses on dryer knuckles. his eyes feel dry though he's shed no tears over it, bags of a few sleepless nights hanging on the corner hooks. ]

[ he sighs, and makes the decision. he doesn't care about Scott's opinion, not really, but the opportunity to engage with this side of his shaken beliefs hasn't readily presented itself; Tsukumo Yuuki was, if anything, too agreeable to a young man on some kind of brink. fair enough — he's not her responsibility. ]

Where I'm from, [ and if Scott had any lingering curiosity about the similarity of their worlds, it dries up there, in spite of some of its similarities: ] People who aren't like us create monsters only we can see— only we can fight.

All we ever do is die for them.

[ who's saving them? ]