"Yeah." He has a marker pen ready on his desk, actually. But he doesn't quite move, keeping his hand on Ren's shoulder. Futaba—Ren's Futaba, that is—needs more help than either of them can give. And while he thinks Ren could stand to be held a moment longer, he knows what it's like to need to move on.

"Want to pick a number, or shall I just grab one?"