[Honestly? Yeah, he's fucked up pretty bad. His arm's broken. His rib's broken. He's pretty sure it's scraped up against his lung, because breathing gets harder with every hour that passes. It's possible that he'll die before they finish this thing. In which case . . . he already knows what'll happen. He's seen it in Blake. In Farnese, too.]

[So maybe it's resolve. But maybe it's just stubbornness, too. Maybe it's a willingness to throw himself into the fray for as long as it takes to get the people he cares about to safety? To do the right thing? Oh, it's definitely that. Without question, he's self-sacrificing in a way so instinctive he has to work to think about it.]

[But it's not like he wants to die. Not like Sayori does. Even if he couldn't explain the difference, he knows it's there. Does she think that makes him stronger?]

[He really doesn't understand. But he can read her just fine.]

It's okay if you don't believe me. I believe it a lot, 'cause it's true, so I'll just believe enough for both of us.

[His Stands chatter to him from above, quiet alarm in the face of the growing monsters. Is there a way out of here yet? A few go to look; a few stay behind. Mista doesn't move, not yet. Just pushes Sayori's hair out of her face, rakes it back with all the fingers on his good hand, and smiles at her. Tired, but warm.]

[There isn't much I can do for you in return. She really doesn't know, does she?]

Hey. Sayori. You know anything about a paladin's duty?

[She's one of those people who . . . give him something worth fighting for.]