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He wants to say something cool and aloof, but it doesn't happen. He just links his fingers together.

"Yeah," he nods. "Me too. I'm glad you made it here."

Sheehan's tired. So is Nana. She spent this entire trip ping-ponging between 'I should enjoy myself' and 'something wrong is going to happen.' She hates that this is where the trip landed on.

"Y'know, I left Lettuce on the Barge. His tank was too big to carry. I didn't trust the Admiral, but there wasn't anything I could do, you know? And I'm sure other people left their fish or their plants or things like that."

And now she's here, stuck on a beach who knows where, with her emotional support frog nowhere in sight.

"I'm glad you did," he tells her honestly. "I can't imagine he'd be happy here. But - I'm sorry you don't have your frog."

And he genuinely means that. "I - think he'll be real happy to see you again. Or hoppy? Does that joke translate?"

Nana lets out a small little giggle before she nods, "Yeah, that does translate. Japan's got dad jokes as well, you know."

Sheehan's smile is tired, but still there. "Dad jokes. I'm not that old!" he protests, but god it feels good to actually laugh about something that isn't just sheer relief.

"You're what, forty?" Nana points out, with a small giggle. "You're old enough to be my dad."

"I'm thirty five!" he protests with a soft laugh. "Or - I was before I came here. Is it the suit?"

He holds out his arms, his bloodstained Hawaiian shirt visible in the firelight.

"I'm sixteen," Nana laughs. "You're still old enough to be my dad."

He'd be a super young dad, but it still counts! She can still make fun of him!

He smiles, but the laughter is gone. "Pretty shitty dad then, huh? If you're here."

Nana shrugs before continuing,

"I wouldn't say my parents were shitty. They tried their best. And I still love them. But it's tough to be an only child who's moved around a lot, you know? I went to...gosh, three elementary schools because of my dad's job?"

He looks up, startled. "Oh...shit, no. Nana, I meant me. I'd be a shit dad for you."

Sheehan leans back on his elbows, staring up at the stars. "What does your dad do?"

There's a moment before Nana points out, "I think because you think you'd be a shit dad, then that makes you a better dad than you realize."

That's the only moment of sincerity Sheehan is getting before Nana continues with, "He works in sales. One of those big companies with a bunch of branches, you know? He's high up enough that they'll move him from branch to branch to help incoming teams."

He doesn't address it. He doesn't need to.

"Well off enough to send you to the fancy schools," he remarks. It's not a question. That's something that Sheehan knows well.

"Only to one fancy school," Nana corrects him. "And really, once you get into Seisho, you know you're going. The acceptance rate is something like 3%. It's one of the best theater schools in Japan. If you make it into Seisho, you're going to move heaven and Earth to stay there."

She shifts her position slightly, looking over at the horizon, before continuing, "Stage girls don't give up. And if you've got the drive to make it to Seisho, you're a stage girl."

He keeps staring up, watching the stars for a moment, as if they might be able to navigate him anywhere.

"Do you know that you give yourself a label?" he wonders, though it's genuine. "And that you are then working off of what the label is, rather than what you are?"

"You're kinda doing the same thing, Doctor," Nana points out, with a heavy emphasis on that last word. She gives Sheehan a little shrug before continuing with,

"You don't work in the counseling office, but you're still making posts every few weeks about therapy stuff. You had the opportunity to make a clean break from the label you gave yourself. But you haven't."

"Yeah, I know," he tells her and takes his cigarettes from his pocket. "I'm not in the counseling office because I couldn't be. But I still like helping people, and I still think that the exercises I do are helpful. But it's - hard to turn it off."

He searches his pockets for his lighter.

"Do you even want to turn it off in the first place?"

It's an honest question.

A fair question, too. He abandons his search for the lighter and just sticks the end of the cigarette into the edge of the fire.

"Sometimes. But we all have our protections, don't we? Some people like swords and fantasies. Other people like walls."

"If you're gonna smoke, can I have one?" Nana asks, deliberately playing up the wide-eyed innocent look in the hope that it helps.

"You don't have to worry about teaching me. Somebody here already taught me how to smoke a cigarette."

He laughs softly. "You're what - sixty? And it took you that long to learn how to smoke?"

"I'm sixteen, thank you very much," Nana lightly points out, with a little shake of her head.

"Yeah? And how many times have you been sixteen?"

He hands her a cigarette.

"Repeating it doesn't count!" Nana cheerfully points out, as she takes the cigarette. She lights it on the fire as well before exhaling. And hey, she didn't immediately choke, she at least slightly knows what she's doing!

"I'm a sixteen year old girl and that's all there is."

"The fact that it doesn't count and doesn't change you says a lot," he tells her softly. "I'm not going to argue with you about it, don't worry."

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