[A fool, he says, and for a few moments Zenyatta's shoulders shake ever so slightly with soft and almost mirthless laughter, because Hanzo is right. He is a fool: for falling in love, for falling in love with Hanzo, for telling him now in the middle of the night when he's drunk and hurt and confused. But there is no taking it back now. Even if there were, he is not sure he would want to, and the thought that he could be so selfish strikes him like an open palm.

Even if it is true.

The smell of liquor lingers in Hanzo's hair as he curls closer. In its own strange way it is grounding, a stimulus he can receive and process without stumbling.]

Then... perhaps, in time, you can allow yourself to believe that I love you, too. [The cheek of his faceplate comes to rest on the top of Hanzo's head.] ... I am sorry for telling you this now. I-

[Silence falls, leaden. Through the chaos of his emotions he fumbles for the words- for the truth, no matter how deep that bullet lies. Piece by piece he extracts it, a wound to be lanced only by time and reflection, and, faltering, continues in a soft and humbled voice.]

I suppose I was afraid that. You or I would disappear before I had the chance to do so.