Mukuro narrowed his eyes. The Storm's bipolar behaviour constantly threw him, but there was consistency in what appeared to be his motive. At least as far as recovering was concerned, he and Gokudera shared the same goal, though he was sure they had very different ideas about how events would proceed afterwards. Mukuro had every intention of escaping the first available chance he was given. If those sexual overtones were anything to go by, Gokudera had something more intimate in mind for the long term.

Normally the Mist wouldn't refuse an advance. But when alarm bells rung in his mind, he had learned to respect them and take precautions.

"Do I know why you broke into my room and began to break me in" - literally break him in - "like a wild animal? No, I do not. I can only assume you yourself were abused as a child and thus try to pass on that treatment to those weaker than yourself."

This speech delivered in a cool (though raspy) voice, the illusionist watched the box Gokudera had brought in as if he expected needles filled with poison to inhabit it. Which wasn't entirely ridiculous - not when said box had a fat, red cross painted on its side. Old, childhood fears of anything medical-related surfaced briefly before being forced back down by his ironclad will. He wasn't in a hospital bed and he certainly wasn't about to be operated on. There was nothing to fear.