[It's Wataru. Even his own imagination couldn't craft words as beautifully as Wataru always can. On sad, lonely nights he might try to craft him in his dreams, to dull any pain or fear in his own situation, but there's always some sort of a tell. There's none right now, so this must actually be Mu.

His fingers curl into Wataru's jacket, and his face presses further against him. His tears have finally calmed themselves, but this sick feeling is still there. He's worried.]

As always, Wataru knows just what to say. Fufu... Or is it just that I'm easily pleased? I wonder. [He takes deep breaths, and it's helping, a little.] If that's the case, then I should tell you that you haven't reached me yet.