[ Behind the glassiness of his optics, shielded away deeper behind flesh and bone, it doesn't take long for a singular thought to take root that's not altogether different from Johnny's. V doesn't know that, but his own thoughts drag him back to a void, a blank canvas where it shouldn't be. Slowly but surely the people he knows - people he trusts - are scribbling what they know there. Fuck he wishes he was more drunk right now.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he exhales heavily like the punch to his gut had been real and not emotionally-charged. Johnny sacrificed himself and he-- ]

Stop. Just... stop.

[ Falling silent, face still cradled in an upturned palm, V can feel that same wave of emotion that's been following him around since he arrived. Crying's not something he does all that often. Not out of some archaic belief that it's not what men do, but because he got better at handling his emotions. Pragmatism; can't survive without it 'cause nobody's got time to hang out in their small things theorizing. Especially not the two of them. They never had time.

His brain hooks into something that flares hot and bright instead, sets him on a course away from tears and down a path Johnny's sent him before. All of this is so big to fit into his already ailing brain, and though there's a full spectrum of emotions unfolding inside of him, he grasps the hottest. ]

All you really were, huh? Just lines'a code. That's how we're gonna look at this?

[ Even drunk he's unskilled when it comes to sitting still, and he gets up like the bench is on fire, burst into flames under his ass and sends him shooting to his feet. Except he is still drunk, and he wobbles when he's upright, interrupts whatever flow he'd been sliding into. He shoots Johnny a good approximation of pissed though, feels like he needs to throw up all over again and this time it has nothing to do with what he's consumed. ]

Not to me you weren't. Fuck, Johnny.