"Always," Marco frowned more. Thatch was definitely in a bad state. And it was his Thatch. Not some version with a different life. The same evasive Thatch who was just as bad about confronting the truth as Marco was. This was going to be a picnic. Marco set up some basic green tea to brew and sat his brother down... and promptly sat on top of him to hold him in the chair. There was only one way to force Marco or Thatch to talk about things they didn't want to, and that was to literally force them.

"Please don't make me do this," Marco regarded Thatch calmly, but seriously. It wasn't fair of him to ask though. He knew Thatch must not want it either. Certainly no more than Marco. "Thatch... Just remember all right? We promised. I love you. If you hurt, I'll hurt with you. Your pain is mine." How many months had he spent in mourning? Wearing black? He'd refused to go back to even purple until he had to be brave in front of the crew, to try to save Ace, and the minute he was in the garden, he went back to black.

"Grell's a shinigami. She has a list of the dead. It's a comfort, eh? I can always know who's still safe. Talk to me. You won't feel better until you do, and I won't stop being an anxious birdie until then, aye? Don't tell me you forgot that in just five years." He reached over and poured a cup of tea to hand to Thatch, though he still didn't climb off the man.