[ Krouse rolls the end of the grass braid he was working on between thumb and little finger. Just something to do with his hands, repetitive motion with a quantifiable output. It evened him out. He's not sure if it calmed him down.

And he's not sure if hearing her voice makes him less calm. It's more like it turns up the contrast, blurred details snapping back into focus. She says she's scared, and he can think about whether he is. He can think, period, working outward from a pool of clarity surrounding her to other, less important things.

So he asks himself her question, and comes up with an answer. ]

I don't know, either.

[ His smile gets a little weaker, a little more tilted. He starts to lift a hand towards his face before he remembers there's nothing to brush back, which leaves it hanging awkwardly before he lets it fall. ]

I'm still - processing, I guess. [ Processing, like that's even close to the word. ] Telling myself this is real. I know it is, it just doesn't...

[ He drops his chin slightly, half-closing his eyes. It's a break that lasts only for a second before he pulls himself back up. ]

Both still scared of the same things, huh? Some menaces to society we are.