[With how distracted Katsura seems, it's more difficult to avoid letting his gaze wander to the scattered shards; his eyebrows knit together at what he glimpses. It would be asking too much of anything here for there to be any happy memories floating around in the broken glass, he's sure.

He's sure that there's nothing pleasant being shown on his own behalf either, a man with red hair engulfed in flames the color of blood, or a much younger Fushimi hiding in a closet and peering out through a crack in the doors.

This isn't easy, not for anyone, so he keeps his voice as level as possible when he speaks, easing even closer and shaking his head just slightly.] There's nobody else here so... you'll have to look for them elsewhere.

[He glances down at the shifting images in the shards, and away again, looking at Katsura's face.] Away from. All of this. Memories aren't going to help with anything in here.