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[Self-explanatory, and he doesn't like it one bit. Turned away, Falco won't see the myriad of expressions that rake across Ethan's face. He'd missed something. Here he's been, lost in his own head, and--]

{What happened? It doesn't seem like him to just disappear...}

[The sort of dread that slots itself in place is heavy, laced with a thread of guilt and an entirely too familiar feeling of how he should have known.

He doesn't contact people, he never has. But... there's also anger there. Whatever happened, Connor had to know he was leaving Falco alone like this. Does he not know what that means to someone, here without anyone else? Someone who cares so much about others?

... In the end, he has to concede - maybe Connor doesn't. Not really.]

[ into the kitchen and falco has left a small little mess of opened cans of just about anything you can think of in the sink: corn, ground beef, and most importantly– tomato sauce. the smell at least seems slightly promising as it’s put to a bubbling boil. all that’s left now is the spaghetti that’s supposed to go . . . in the water. seven minutes cooking time, the recipe says. at least he seems well enough in following simple instructions. how it’ll taste, he’s not sure yet.

he makes sure to pull a chair for ethan at the table, before he’s moseying back to the stove. ]

I need to talk to you about some things, Mister Ethan. Mister Connor is alive, I know that. I . . . [ his shoulders slump. ] I think I hurt him. Not— physically, I think, [ he doesn’t know how else to word it, and taps two fingers to his temple. ] here.

[Ethan could offer little bits of help, when it comes to cooking - he's careful what he eats, but he's also been living alone for... a while. Well, had been. Nonetheless, it smells good enough. He hasn't had spaghetti in a while, that he can recall.

That doesn't clear the air of the sense of uncertainty and quiet emotion. He preferred them, he thinks, when they were tones and progressions, stylistic choices that he could understand.]

.... {It's alright, Falco. Take your time.} [His expression follows his concern for the boy - his remembrance that he is a boy. Definitely no older than Ethan was when he began his journey. He's not taken the seat yet, and for now he leaves it as it was.]

{Speaking from... some measure of experience, we don't always get to choose that.} [His right hand comes to rest on Falco's shoulder, soft and firm. Here. Understanding.] {Whatever happened, you did the best you could with the information you had. No less than Connor had, when he made his decision.}

[He's quiet for another moment, considering. It's difficult for him, and he doesn't know-- he's different than most. But... he's just going to shift, kneeling down somewhat to pull Falco into a hug. It says so much more than he can find the words for, especially in his own personal silence.

After all, he knows what that feeling is. He's still avoiding facing it, compared to poor Falco.]

[ oh, this— this is nice. the last time someone had hugged him this way was his brother, and it's really no surprise that, while his surprise only lasts an actual second, falco reaches around and could've tackled into the embrace if he had the space to gain the momentum. it was probably the best thing ethan could've done, especially as falco begins to squeeze his arms. ]

I didn't get home in time— they were already fighting when I got there.

[Ethan is awkward, he is physically cold and quiet and altogether FUBAR, but he can do this. His hands move to stroke the poor boy's hair as he speaks, gentle and as calm as he can be.]

.... You did everything you could with the information we had.

[He doesn't... sound good. His voice is thin and wavering, and there is clearly so much more going on than he wants to talk about. It's grounding, though, having someone to talk to. Separating himself from the situation.]

What else happened?

[Without judgment, without pressure. He wants to know - of course he does - but he can't rush this.]

[ a strong boy for his age— not the strongest he could be, but strong in pale contrast. he saw it and took a breath, held it, ]

Let's— sit first, Mister Ethan. [ he looked wavering, falco felt it in his frame as he pulled away. ] I'll get the food. [ a quick pause to give time for ethan to get to a better resting spot just an arm's length away. it's easy, now. he could shut off the fire under the sauce and turn a few actions to the actual spaghetti. giving it a mix would make him assume it was ready and no longer hard, so soon enough that's getting shut off as well. get rid of the water, pour it into the proper washer . . .

he lost a few noodles; a beginners error as he tipped the tall pan of hot water and spaghetti over the new dish, let the water run and— now he just needed to put it back and pour in the sauce. he starts talking as he does now, needing little focus to complete the task and having his front halfway turned to ethan and the table. ]

They both had weapons. The Connor we helped had a knife with him, and Mister Connor had a gun. [ mixing, ] He probably went looking for Mister Connor as soon as he woke up.

... all right.

[It's good enough, right? He can... Do something. He doesn't like it, in the end. Not knowing what to do grates on him as deeply as silence.

He sits, and it's as quietly awkward as ever. This, at least, is nothing new. Falco works on the food and Ethan listens as he speaks, stomach pitting as the story unfolds.

Honestly, he should have guessed that -60 would go immediately. He probably should have contacted-- Kate had been with him, but...

He can just imagine the look that was on Connor's face. Fear, betrayal. What else?]

{You stopped them, though?}

[Quietly leading, wanting to get the story out. At least then Falco won't bear it alone.]

[ he clears his throat as the sauce pours and spreads on its own. that was that. it was hot, so he’s slipped on mittens to bring it over to the table and let it cool. far from gourmet, but at least it smells good. it gives falco the time to pull his chair now, sit back— and seem remorseful for something. he still has mittens on, on his lap. he looks ready to be made into the next candid meme. ]

Yeah. [ the only other person who knew about this was abel, and falco had confessed on his own in some . . . odd way to make himself feel better, maybe. ethan’s trusted him with so much already, so he trusts ethan. slipping those off and placing them on top of the table, ] And I could’ve hurt them more than help them, but . . . I didn’t know.

[ should he start from the top then? or else it wouldn’t make sense. ]

Master Admin gave me something a while ago that would help with violence. If I practiced enough, I could get people to stop fighting. [ it sounds neat, and useful at its utmost prime. ] Right now I— I only got the roosters to stop fighting twice, the rest of the time they attacked me, so . . .

[ at least all his foolery and asking for chickens now made a full circle. but his face is still downcast. he took a willing and informed gamble. if it hadn’t been for the purple brands spilling down his neck, it would’ve worked. ]

That’s what I preferred they do.

[Isn't it funny, that Ethan will do much the same thing in a few days. Here, he tries for a smile, weak and wan. He waits, too, until Falco has finished speaking before responding.]

{You did what you could with the information you had. You accepted the risks.}

[Here, he inhales softly, exhaling a sigh.]

{I think I'd probably do the same. Anything to get them to stop fighting each other, especially if you're relatively sure you'll be safe.} [With both of them, probably even if they weren't at all sure.]

{But they turned on you, then.} [Not a question, just a gentle urge to continue, of acceptance and understanding.]

[ he supposed he did— maybe he would've done differently if he knew he was a walking infectant. he would've shifted immediately. well, ethan was right at least, he had little regrets now that it all worked out, and he felt a weird sort of amity in that they'd do the same thing. had the same thought process. how horrible. ]

Mhm. I knew I'd just heal. [ unless connor had gotten a headshot in, which he hadn't stopped to think about. ] Mister Hank showed up and disarmed Mister Connor, then right after . . . Someone else came. Her name's Miss Zolta. [ then, he corrects himself. ] Doctor Zolta. She works with Master Admin.

She took them away for therapy and then talked to me the next day, when I went to look for Mister Connor. She said she was going to take care of everything, that they're alright and all, but. [ he shrugs. ] Mister Connor doesn't want to talk to me.

[There are a lot of really alarming likenesses between these two, aren't there? Ethan listens quietly, slotting everything into place. Another name for the staff.

Zolta... A therapist. The thought is that it's sickeningly convenient, isn't it? how many of you are there? He takes another slow breath, exhaling a sigh.]

{Sulking, probably.} [It's a bit harsh of a word, but it helps to diffuse some seriousness. Just a little.] {He takes your safety - honestly, all of ours - very seriously. I imagine the idea of hurting you, especially if he couldn't control himself in doing it... Probably didn't sit well with him. He fought to have control of himself, after all, right?}

[If he knew how deeply that affected Connor, he might be even more concerned. But he just wonders - what would he do? Posits the scenario with his deepest connections, even if they're gone now. Guilt is a hell of a platform for irrationality. He has to cut the thought early as the memory of the feed pops up.]

... {I'm glad it sounds like no one died. You especially, Falco.}

[ falco had been so desperate at the time that he’d do anything. he had a hunch there, too, that his actions have weighed heavily on connor’s mind recently and why every message he sent was put on read. then ethan says that and . . . it all dawns on him. all at once.

it dawns on him fast enough that falco keeps his eyes to the floor, taps his fingers anxiously against his knees— before he’s trying to hide that he’s blinking too much. his eyes are red and stinging, he’s trying to hold his breath because his nose was filling and one sniff would give him away.

he’s not upset because of the short possibility of connor disliking him and his actions, especially when he showed up covered in dirt. he could dislike it all he wanted, falco still did the right thing to a point. it was the possibility of harming him so profoundly, taking something away from him that he fought so hard to grasp.

he could imagine how much he’s hurt. ]

Y-yeah, [ maybe, to shake it off, ] maybe food’s ready—

[Ethan had thought nothing of it, for a long time. It's no wonder Falco wouldn't -- he's young, trying to do what he thinks is right, doing it all for the right reasons.

You don't think much of freedom until you're a passenger in your own body.

He can feel it, rather than hear it - the familiar weight of it on Falco where it keeps his head down, brings the stinging sensation of tears. Quietly, he gets up to help dole out the food - maybe to give Falco that soft moment to work through it.]

... There's no strength in holding back your feelings. A good friend told me that, once.

[He's a hypocrite. He knows that, but... Maybe the words will help, even a little. He rests a cool hand on Falco's shoulder, gives a squeeze -- leaves him the time to decide if he wants Ethan to stay or let him be for now.

He's not hungry, after all. His body may be, but that's hardly the point. It can wait, of Falco needs to take a moment.]

[ just a little while longer, he uses just a few more seconds to keep his eyes down and checks on spaghetti that needed no checking (it’s just hot), but the hold on his arm had been like open a door. or, more accurately, a faucet. it’s now painfully obvious that he’s crying if it hadn’t been before, quiet and somber as he gives into the quiver in his shoulders to sniff, nod, and sit back down. ]

It hurts . . . That he’s hurt.

[ he’s too empathetic for his own good, and it might just be his imagination brewing something larger than necessary . . . he rubs the back of his hand beneath his nose with a snort, and with his palm smears the tears that had built up at the corners of his eyes.

at least he kept to that, more times than not. he just . . . didn’t want to keep feeling like he was whining. ]

I just— don’t . . . Want that to be an excuse. [ an excuse to just sit there. and wonder. and cry. ] I want to keep moving. Someone taught me that once.

[He's not good at being comforting... Clumsy, even, with little experience in it himself. But he's trying, with little touches and soft motions that sit in some half-used space in his head.]

I know. But you made a mistake, just like he did. That's okay, you know.

[He digs in his pocket for a handkerchief, something he hadn't always carried, but well... It's getting colder.]

You can talk to him about it when you see him next. Hopefully, he returns home soon... [it's difficult to listen to Falco, knowing he's not the best choice for it. But that statement...]

You'll keep moving. The way it feels is a reminder, it doesn't lock you into anything.

As long as you talk to him, I think he'll like that. [Definitely better than Ethan doing the same, he doesn't say.] Nothing is black and white, so don't despair just yet.

[ boy, was it. the world was very colorful, grey in all places and never actually solid. he knew that. eren had reenforced that without meaning to, and it hadn’t been as if falco was fully unaware. he nods quietly to it, as understood as any, but ethan . . . has been the one talking. ethan too, had things kept from connor that would very much hurt him the same way. ]

What about you? Will you talk to him?

[In the end, his are worse. For a number of reasons, they are. Ethan knows it. The way he inhales, exhales a sigh... it's painful, thinking about it.

He should be used to keeping secrets, but...]

Yeah. I can't keep it from him forever, you know? But... I don't think it'll end so well for me. I've been trying to think it through for ages, but... I guess I'm just going to have to let everything fall where it may.

He deserves better than that sort of secrecy, after all.

. . . You don’t think he’d understand?

[ with the obvious upset aside, of course, which couldn’t be removed and he understood that. hell, connor’s probably upset with him too, if he figured out why he was caked in dirt just following -60’s arrival. but falco was missing a very important piece, there. he didn’t see connor and ethan going somewhere together on the night of the party, and if he had, he wouldn’t have thought much of it. ]

... mm.

[Ethan doesn't let his gaze fall as he might want it to, though he shakes his head.]

It's... Complicated, isn't it? Between who it was and all... So I don't think he'll understand.

[They'd been lucky, that night. No one had seen them make their escape to wonder in the first place. Finally, Ethan offers a thin smile.]

It'll be alright, though. I accepted the possibility before, y'know? We talked about it at the party.

[At this point he can barely remember the actual events of the party, save the very real, blaring "mistake" he'd made being in perfect detail.

He still doesn't know if he would change it if he could.]

[ . . . well, then. he does remember that, and there's nothing falco can really say against it if he did so willingly. with a little more constancy, falco rises from his seat to take ethan's plate and serve him first. the spaghetti is set messily, but at least it smells edible. a little on the sweet side. ]

I remember. [ it's hard to do that sort of thing. he just wishes that maybe it didn't have to be so complicated, but hadn't everyone wished for that? ] I don't think I would change anything either, if it were me.

[ was that a bad thing? ah, who knew . . . ]

—Do you want more, Mister Ethan?

[ the plate, is what he means, as well as a short attempt at beginning to lighten the conversation. ]

Yeah. In the end... I guess that's how it tends to be. I never want to change a thing.

[That's... a good thing, right? It's hard to say, objectively. The food smells a little sweet - that's not so bad either, even if he's wholly unused to it.]

Ah-- no, that's alright. I actually don't eat all that much. It's easier on my body.

[Here, he finally laughs, head shaking. His whole physical situation is pretty laughable, in a lot of ways. It's been his life for so long that he doesn't even bat a lash talking about it.]

[ the chuckle brings lightness to the otherwise heavy-aired kitchen. falco can blink the redness, swelling and shine away from his eyes and crack open a beam in turn. for ethan, then: a plate of spaghetti. by taste, as the smell provides: the sauce has been tampered toward a more sweet zest than a well adjusting salty suave. it doesn't mean it tastes bad, though! edible, some work is needed, but a good try for a first timer all the same. ]

I'll make sure you eat enough. [ ah! and! ] If you can be honest with the taste . . . I'd really appreciate it.

You don't have to worry about that. I actually have to eat pretty frequently with my medications. And I can do that, but I'm not sure if my tastes will compare to most.

[He has many dietary restrictions in addition to everything else. But he'll take a bite, giving it all a fair go -- and really, as things go, it's not awful. Definitely a first-time try, but also definitely edible. Thoughtfully, he takes another bite before even trying to put it all into words.]

It's... a little sweet. [It takes him a moment, mostly because he's aware of how much more he tastes sugar, compared to others.] Could use a little bit more salt, maybe some garlic. But it's not bad at all.

[ he knew it, and nods as he wolfs down a forkfull himself. ]

The book said you can fix how acid it tastes with sugar, so . . . [ there went that attempt, ] Thank you.

[ falco takes a few more mouths; despite its sweetness, he’s hungry. there’s a thought that comes to mind when he hums, with his mouth full and indicating with a finger as he swallowed. ]

What kind of food do you like best, anyway?

[He's slow about eating compared to Falco, but that certainly seems more to do with him than the food.

At the comment about acidity, he hums, finishing his own bite and inclining his head.]

You can get away with a lot with sugar, but you'll want to taste it while you do. If you wanted to counteract it chemically, you'd want to add something like a small amount of baking soda, then maybe a little sugar or butter.

It's not really a problem if you have fresh tomatoes and make your own sauce, but that's a longer process.

[He just sort of states this like it's nothing - and for him, it really isn't much. He's prepared make for himself for ages now, and Lily was wonderful about teaching. As to the question...]

... Honestly, I'm not sure. There's a lot I don't eat because of my disease.

I guess a mild chicken soup is what I think of most, though. Or just... Lightly steamed vegetables and steak. I usually make my food, so I don't think much of it.

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