( It's interesting, to watch how Makoto responds to all of this. There's only an affirmative hum that the black tea is just fine, and then Esikko waits and watches. The younger man looks incredibly anxious, which he's already gathered, but for the focus of his words to be on the way his doppelganger troubled others? It feels like a bit of a surprise. He hesitates for a moment, rolling a few different changes in his phrasing around in his head before he decides on one. )

He worked together with mine, and they shoved me into a frame. Not to worry, though— I was helped out later.

( Simple and to the point, honest and not sugar coated. Esikko's eyes look softer than they normally do in his studying, and after one more trace of Makoto's face, he continues. )

He's not something you should apologize for. My own painting was something of a past version of myself— but even that was twisted into something flatter, simpler, crueler. Those paintings may have been a part of ourselves in technicality, but that man wasn't you.

( Reassuring? Why is he reassuring him? The foreign feeling of the words on his tongue don't go unnoticed, and there's a tension in his chest he can't explain. It feels unnatural, but it doesn't feel wrong to be saying these things. He can't tell if the tense knot there is getting worse or better, though, and that's awfully strange. )

I'm not here to force you to speak on something you don't want to, for the record. I just... ( Here, he struggles, swallows his words and reconsiders, eyes flicking anywhere else. ) You know, looking at him and then at my other self, it felt familiar, in a way.