After a long moment of Nao’s body-shaking sobs and soft, murmured comforts being whispered into her ear, Techie starts to notice her breathing evening. Had she tired herself out? He tries to crane his neck to check if she’s fallen asleep but it’s no use. 

Techie does the next best thing: he hums. Soft, slow, safe. 

Asleep or not, he hopes this will calm Nao. The human mind has a horrible (if useful) tendency to remember depressing as hell things in order to make itself cry or cry harder, and without a doubt Techie understands that’s what this is.

Some nights he sobs to himself about every single problem he’s ever had, just to purge the memories for a while, like getting a vaccine. The acid, his father, the awfully cramped bed in Peach Trees, getting his eyes scooped out of his skull, months of endless wandering, the things he had to do to survive and keep his bad habits fed. Every memory an open wound.

He doesn’t stop humming the faraway wisps of a song he’d heard as a little boy until Nao goes completely still, slumped and snoozing.

Techie thinks that maybe, just maybe, he’ll be able to rest tonight too.