[One corner of his mouth tweaks upwards, but he drops his stare. Reaches up a hand to comb through his terrible fucking helmet hair, where the bangs have flattened and the back sticks up oddly. He manages to make it all look, if possible, even more like an unkempt haystack than before.]
Tell me about it. What it's like.
[Which isn't an answer at all, because there are too many people he'd miss, and - how did that happen?]
no subject
Tell me about it. What it's like.
[Which isn't an answer at all, because there are too many people he'd miss, and - how did that happen?]
[Hard to say, sometimes.]