( As with most hotel rooms, there's a little table and chairs tucked away in the corner. Geto makes his way to one, sinking into the plush upholstery, spread knees, one elbow resting on his thigh as he cups his chin and peers over at the other man. He can kind of understand all of the self-flagellation now, the anxious remnants of too much alcohol and poor choices. He hums, sips his soda, shrugs one shoulder. )

I don't know what to tell you, Nanami. I'm not that cruel that I'd ignore a friend in distress either way. Besides, I wasn't doing anything.

( No meetings, the girls tucked into bed and safe already. )

Would you have preferred me not to come?