[The brush of their hands may be slight but he finds himself unable to draw back, his fingers curling just so instead, almost an awkward kind of hand-holding, but it is what it is. He doesn't mind. Not much he wouldn't do... is it? Of course he would, indeed.
His gaze lowers as Art takes in a little air like he'd forgotten to fill his lungs. Somehow his chest feels a little too tight for it.]
It's all right.
[That softer, almost warmer voice again, even with so little breath to it. He knows the weight of those words, feels them and how they draw out more of himself than he would have ever expected in turn.] Whether I live or not, even if I don't know one from the other as I am now, I know...
I know it can be enough that I'm here, too. [He closes his eyes.] Because you're...