The more Gen stays close, the more it feels a little easier to... be himself again. The heat of another warm body by his, callused hands disrupting the neatness of straight hair and how it feels disrupted against his scalp, the rush of air cooling the back of his throat and how his lungs stretch slightly to accommodate it all.

He's here. Gen's here. They'll be alright.

Another nod, and something bright catches his attention. Right, right- his phone. Leaning down, he picks it up again, and tries to focus best he can on scratched up plastic against his palm. "...Everyone's still talking."