[Everything in his head is too big and too loud to allow him to hear anything that might be coming back to him. It's been that way since they forged this bond between them - something that Red Wine often finds he almost regrets.

Sometimes, it isn't 'almost'.

He takes a breath - in, out - and re-ties his hair with delicate movements of his fingers. It's a veneer, nothing more than that, and Steak knows it and Red Wine hates that he knows it.]

And what do you propose that I do. [He says, treading the knife-edge of spiralling down again despite his careful words.] Learning to 'handle it' doesn't simply happen overnight. This is not going to get better. I thought--

[Red Wine trails off, glancing over to the nearest window.]

I thought I might get used to it. But I'm not.