Pure thankfulness replaces the tentative query, almost as clear as the stream they’re at. Straightening up, Chikusa doesn’t bother to undo any of his clothing. His focus is on Mukuro as he wades into the water, reaching for his hand with more need than his lethargic nature usually permits. It’s not on purpose, not something he thinks through. It’s simply that away from everything, in a world where he can actually have more energy, covered need emerges. Plodding closer to him, he crumples somewhat, head pressing into Mukuro’s shoulder.

“Maestro…” Words struggle to form in his mouth. He doesn’t want to be weak, to be discarded or not seen as useful if those cracks become visible. At the same time…

Situations much like this one were common, once upon a time. Fleeing his body in the purely mental dissociative manner was never a permanent solution. It still isn’t. Eventually, he has to come back… It’s only a matter of when. He’d come back from the experiments quiet and blank faced, eerily so, and remain like that for a few minutes, a half hour, a full hour, two… And, out of nowhere, he’d slam back into existing, finding a place to hide and gasp out sobs which rattled him to the bone.

That’s what’s happening here, on a less severe level. Perhaps being wrapped in an illusion even helped kick it off. The mind is still such a strange thing.