Mithos holds his tongue and he waits as Lloyd cries, uncomfortable but unable to do anything about it. He idly plays around with the dreamspace as he waits, focusing on creating-- something, anything, to keep his mind from thinking about anything, anything other than Zelos, lifeless and bleeding the wrong way, the wrong color. He creates little bouncing lights like fireflies around them, gentle yellow-green floating around, a distraction.

He doesn't know what to think about first, what to unpack. His driver, a murderer...? But from what glimpses he saw, Mithos knows Zelos started that fight. Zelos made his choice. A death in battle is much, much different than something pre-mediated, pre-determined. Lloyd is a killer, but not a murderer.

Not that that stops the grief Lloyd feels from sliding down Mithos' throat and choking his lungs. Whoever Zelos was to Lloyd... he was someone important. The fireflies around Mithos flicker, wingbeats faltering for a moment, as Mithos tries to imagine that grief, rationalize it within his own mind, but can't even come close, can only understand the grief that sits heavy on his tongue.

Lloyd speaks, finally, and Mithos winces at how clearly Lloyd's body does not want him to speak.

"It's fine," Mithos says, frustrated, uncomfortable. "I was the one who walked in here. You don't have to apologize for that."

He fidgets, a little. Fireflies flicker around them, yellow, orange.

Mithos swallows. He has questions, but everything he really needs to know about this situation, he already knows. And he's not completely dumb, he knows that now's the absolute worst time to ask Lloyd anything pressing. So:

"Is there anything I can do?" Mithos asks, quiet. And then: "...do you want me to go? If I leave, you should stay lucid in the dreamspace. No more nightmares then, at least. Not unless you ask for them."