[ His rumbling complaint isn't much of a deterrent, but it takes effort not to try squirming out of his grip when it tickles so much to feel the words as heat against her neck. (It also takes effort not to sink further into the embrace, because — well, this isn't the time or the place for that kind of thing! No matter how tempting it is! Or how cute he's being!)

And so Ruka lets him drag her into the living room, and waits for him to finish his exuberant collapse before she sits down after, a much more controlled descent to the stretch of cushion he hasn't commandeered. She doesn't quite lean back into the couch — she has a much harder time relaxing into furniture than most — but she anchors her presence by stealing one of his hands, folding it between her palms. ]

Alright. But if you're not-okay later, that's alright, too. I'll be here.

[ Promises, promises. They both know there's no promise that can't be broken, but intention matters, too. And, who knows? There's always the trend of people drifting away in chains; maybe it's true in reverse, too, and these constant little assurances help keep them anchored to this world. It can't be true all the time, but it's a nice thought.

Her thumb runs over the line of his wrist. ]

You'll have to forgive me, though. I don't think your friend has the best impression of me.