"I just. Didn't want to get anything in your joints..." Sixshot mumbles as he lets Tarn steer him about the small living space. Also, he might be stalling a bit, waiting to see if the purple mech would finally get annoyed and change his mind. It's a tactic that'd worked stunningly well when he hadn't intended for it to before.

Tarn lets him go and Sixshot pauses on the threshold, one hand resting on the door frame. It wasn't the most well lit of shower racks, but he could now see the welding scars scattered over the tank-former's dark back, shoulders and arms, bare patches where paint had been stripped off, darkness where biolight strips had been. The empty space Tarn's fusion cannons had once occupied.

Drawing in a quiet, deep in-vent of air, the six-former finally steps in after his companion, sliding the door shut behind him. Tarn's optic catches his as he reaches out and flattens his hands against the mech's back, pale mask pressing against heavy treads.

"Think I should've been there."