[He tenses, shock jolting through him like electricity when he's grabbed. The suddenness of it robs his breath for a moment and he squirms in Steak's hold, his expression twisting as if he's about to utter a familiar 'how dare you' or 'let me go you brute' and then maybe they'd fight, and everything would go back to normal.

But he doesn't follow through and his arm stays in Steak's grip while the hairs on the back of his neck lift up. It's too late to take it back now.]

Why does it matter? [Red Wine retorts weakly. Of course it matters. If not to him then it matters to Steak who naturally would ask such a meaningless question and expect an answer.]

Since-- Before our first Attendants married. The night we first met Bloody Mary, when you stormed in shouting my name.

[And never knowing just what he saved Red Wine from in that moment.]

Why does it matter.