Taako lets her take both his hands, and he's a little startled at the strength of it. He's reminded again, inasmuch as he ever lets that comparison rise to the surface of his thoughts, that Ren really does have a wellspring of determination to her. A willpower that manifests itself in holding on to things and people (and life) that he can't help but assume has its foundation in some fear of loss. Is she afraid of losing him? What a dumb thing to be afraid of. Maybe she just hangs on so tightly because it hasn't occurred to her to do anything else. He hopes it stays that way.

He tilts his head--uncertainty? A concession? She's right, even if she's wrong, even if he set her up to be, with his cagey bullshit. Lup's here and fine and that makes him happier than he knows how to really nail the expressing of, anymore. And that's what's really got his stomach in sour knots of humiliation. In the memory, he grieved for Lup; in the memory's shadow he, perhaps selfishly, grieves for himself, and hates it.

Whatever. It's not like he can explain to Ren that he wasted friendship on someone, or that it's nearly impossible to know what someone will do to you if they're able to. Vulnerability, he thinks that one's called. Leaves a real bad aftertaste. Ren doesn't deserve that lesson. Let her be wrong about why he's upset. He'll never have to explain. "It...was only kinda lonely. I still had friends, they just--" Weren't Lup, since she was dead. Weren't Lucretia, memory to the contrary. "Were asleep. No bigs." He meets her eyes on the tail end of this mess of unvoiced hurts and mostly-truths, squeezes her hands in gratitude. "Know what'd really make my heart feel better? Not having to make breakfast. You should tell Lup that, first thing."