[ He hates that look Dextera gives him. Eyes wide and watery, brow raised in a silent plea, lips pressed together thinly. He hates that it makes something twinge painfully deep in his chest -- because it makes him want to erase it with violence, because it reminds him too much of someone else, because it makes him want to give in to it so it will go away. And that maelstrom of conflicting emotions is made clear in the way Gen only tightens his grip on the bag further for a moment, fabric creaking between his fingers as he considers ripping it out of Dextera's grasp to spill its contents on the ground.

It's not the pathetic look Dextera gives him that ultimately changes his mind. If it weren't for that prickle of emotions carried through their shared Legacy, he really would have treated Dextera like a threat to be dismantled. But there it is, that discomforting and foreign wash of concern needling at his thoughts, and it's just enough that he can't ignore it completely.

Gen huffs a hard exhale before slowly, slowly starting to loosen his fingers from around that sack. He willfully ignores the sensation of something heavy and wet shifting inside the fabric -- ]

... you know, don't you. [ -- and instead focuses solely on Dextera. Looking into his eyes as he speaks at a hoarse deadpan, his words forcefully ironed flat. ] If this is something that'll cause trouble for us ... that's my life on the line. For letting you go. You know that, right?

[ His real question, though, is one that goes unsaid. 'Do you really care?' ]