"Eh, my place is east Texas. It'll always maybe be Jacket Weather." Things he does for the familiarity of it, things he needs to ground him that tend to set him off just as often as they soothe. He's working on finding a balance there but so far? no dice. He doesn't stop walking till he's up the steps and in North's space, headbutting his shoulder and sagging. Okay.

Warm, present, and real.

He's pretty sure.

Like.

Twenty percent sure this is real. That's good enough, right? Right.