In the times since they’d escaped the Estraneo, their small group has traveled all over. Decrepit buildings, idyllic towns, yawning countrysides, bustling cities, consuming forests. Their running had taken them across country borders, fumbling through new languages (more him and ken than Mukuro), and all manners of sights had passed before their eyes.

Still. It’s always strange to Chikusa, sometimes, to be in such nice places.
He takes a slow look around, blinking as though trying to awake from the dream of reality, and breathes out as he tries to let himself be comforted. It’s not even the appearance of the place that gives him any ease. This is Mukuro’s domain- his world and his rules. If he says nothing can reach them here, hurt him here, then that’s fact. It means more to Chikusa than he can say.

Carefully, he reaches into the stream and lets water pass over his fingertips.
“Anything of yours is good enough for me, Maestro.” Still, there’s something else on his mind. A tentative glance up towards the other, the question lurking in his eyes. He wants to request closeness, but he isn’t sure how. This already feels like so much.