Ahem. "Hi, Sasha! Are you feeling better? You were gone a long while."

Is Dasol pulling away from the hug or...?

Well, yes, because it's been kind of a long hug and now there's a third person here and it would be weird to keep his back turned to them—

—and also because he just realized that he's been crying into a stranger's hair for the last, like, minute, and that is mortifying.

"You good, dude?"

"Hmm? Yes! Yes, I was just telling him about how things were in Russia and you know. Some of the inconveniences involved with how I have to guide."

"It wasn't that bad. You don't have to be, like... that about it." He resumes his approach. "Here, I made you something." He thrusts the illusory bowl of morkovcha as hard as he can into this wimp's solar plexus and plops as heavily as possible into the chair beside him. "Seemed like you wanted it."

"You were in my head? Sashka, you're going to be backlashed to hell and back—"

"It's one bowl of morkovcha, dude! It's not that expensive—"

"You've either been in my head this whole fucking morning or you reached out while you were in the bathroom and couldn't see me! That's extremely inefficient for you—"

"I know that but you were crying like a little baby and I wanted to make sure you weren't getting, like—"

"You already had a ton on board from tracking me down this morning! You can't keep using it—"

"Well, back then, I thought I still had a primary partner, so I figured he'd guide it off for me because that's— what he's— FOR!"

"Sasha, that's not—"

"No, whatever, it's fine, we're both Yulya's bitch and it was stupid of me to figure otherwise just because we became international fugitives. Now eat your dumb carrots while I sign away my life to this conniving pretty-boy bastard here so I can suck the dick of commerce long enough to not die of a heart attack from trying to protect you—"

His head snaps towards Ha Si-yeon. "You got something for me to sign, or what? Just do it before this bitch touches me and I'm feeling less impulsive, okay?"

"Sasha—"

"Shut up, cunt! Don't touch me!"

"And my name's Misha!"

"I'm not legal, I don't have a contract for you. But what I do have," he says, spawning his commscreen and causing two pieces of ID to appear in front of each of them, "are your new IDs."

He was already crying from talking about windows and morkovcha and then he was crying because of what he'd just done to Sasha and now he's crying because he's going to be an actual Korean and that's three reasons to by crying which is too many reasons.

Can he even trust his mouth to make words right now? Or will it just come out baby-sounds and that strangled noise from gulping air after a good scream?

He has to try, anyway.

"Thank-you-Xa-Si-yeon-nim-for-your-help-you-didn't-have-to-I-promise-you-will-not-regret-it—

gassssssssssp of breath—

"I-will-be-the-best-guide-in-all-of-Quasar-thank-you-thank-you."

"...Thanks."

"And yeah, he will."

He turns to leave, slouched so low that the crown of his head barely clears his shoulders. "See ya, fuckers."

"W-where are you—"

"Legal. Obviously. I gotta get a partner before I croak. Finish your carrots, Yurochka. Or—whatever the equivalent is in Korean." 

"Sunbae, to you."

"I wasn't asking."

He disappears, finally, around a corner and out of sight.