[Fugo bites his lip, looking away. He wished he could tell him otherwise. He wished he could tell him that wasn't true, but that would be a lie. And certainly, there were times when he felt like it was okay to lie (he'd lied to Buccellati before, even if he'd deeply regretted it), but this wasn't one of those times. "If grief anchors your feet, then let me share it." That was what he had said to him before, and so, even if he could somehow manage to lie his way out of this...
It just wouldn't be right. He couldn't do that to this person who had done so much for him—even if he didn't remember doing it. It would feel like betrayal.]
Mista's alright. Trish, too. [And someone named Polnareff, but he had no idea who that was.] But... the others...
[He trembles. This time, he understands this feeling, he thinks, but the worst part is— he can't even tell him what happened. He doesn't know, and while he understands now that maybe what he'd done back then hadn't been "wrong," exactly, he still hated himself for that. He doesn't know.]
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It just wouldn't be right. He couldn't do that to this person who had done so much for him—even if he didn't remember doing it. It would feel like betrayal.]
Mista's alright. Trish, too. [And someone named Polnareff, but he had no idea who that was.] But... the others...
[He trembles. This time, he understands this feeling, he thinks, but the worst part is— he can't even tell him what happened. He doesn't know, and while he understands now that maybe what he'd done back then hadn't been "wrong," exactly, he still hated himself for that. He doesn't know.]