[ As John goes on, there's a twitch at the corner of his lips, a small give. There's almost too much armor to pierce through, but the blunt edge of John's admission is like a spear between loose plates. It grazes at the flesh of something that was once warm, brings with it the bloom of something vulnerable — human. ]

Asuka, [ he says. It rolls of his tongue in a curious way, a cushioned pause before he gives it. For so long, he'd only been called "Ryo," that to give his family name feels artificial, foreign. But, in the end, it is not so much for propriety as it is for distance. Ryo, after all, had lost any concerns about manners long ago. Against the end of the world, little things began to matter less and less. Where once he would have left his shoes at the door, he drags now all the mud and ghosts in. ] If you're going to group yourself in with strong tastes, I might as well knows yours too.

[ Questionable taste, taste that makes the blood run. Just that side of ethical, Ryo considers the inferno before the sparks. The Devil's in the details, they say, but details are only considered where they're of immediate benefit these days. Ryo's gaze drifts, scans the expanse of treeline as the song plays. It reminds him briefly of the passages he'd been pulled from, the dawn cast up bright against white feathers frozen in ecstasy. He thinks that if most knew what he knew now, there'd be more push to use those hydrogen bombs — more reason for those to pray to their Gods for something. ]

Yep, I know it. [ He's heard it played once or twice in his time back home. It isn't something he touched on often, but the lyrics seem more relevant now as he focuses. No future was always a concern, wasn't it? People always feared there wasn't anything left for them. There might not be, if he was honest. ] I can't say I know the whole story behind it, but the song gives me a good guess.

[ He means the whole of why it was banned, of course. ]