[He's not going to go further and force him to eat or drink; he trusts in Mitsuru's innate pragmatism to eventually realize he needs the minimum to keep himself going, and if it's broken for longer than expected Lenka can check in on him later. As long as he isn't falling out of trees, they're still golden, or at least bronzed.

He doesn't know the details of how Mitsuru deals with death, the death he's dealt with -- but he knows the effects, and the results here in how he's strode across the weeks that have rained down on them, lifting his feet effortlessly over the corpses until they stopped moving here. There come, always, the corpses you can no longer just step over. The faces you remember not just in dreams but the ones you carry with you no matter how far you go.

He doesn't know the details of Mitsuru and Boa's relationship, either. But he knows how often he sees them together, the way Mitsuru thanked him for Boa's life, something he hadn't thought anything of at the time. The way Boa's hackles went up in a split-second the second he even suspected anyone of looking at Mitsuru funny.

There's a hole opened here, that won't be patched.]

But you don't feel it.

[His voice is soft, thoughtful, as he settles himself in for the count.]