Come on now, California, give me a little credit. We both know I'm too smart to do a stupid thing like pity you.

[ He slides closer. Not... entirely sure how to handle this. His other friends are different. Less afraid of physical affection. Less afraid to cry in the face of something as horrible as their own death, losing all their autonomy.

He thinks maybe, just maybe, he could tell the story of Kas the Bloodyhanded. Slide a book his way. Give him something other than reality to escape into.

So he does the only thing he can think to: he springs on him, nearly toppling them over in the process. Locking long, lanky arms around him and holding tight. Fully expecting to be fucking decked for his efforts. ]

You're alright, man.