"Dude, I don't even know," came his answer, Vinnie's face scrunched up in disgust as she dragged him like a rag doll because ew. It didn't surprise him that people acted like rabid animals, he'd spent far too much time in customer service for that, but come on.
He muttered a thanks when BB handed him a sign for his suddenly empty hand, beginning to muster up one of his dazzling smiles when she asked if he were ok. The expression hangs, half-formed, before it softened. "Yeah, I'm ok. I feel better than I have in years," he answered, hoping it would reassure her. It was even the truth, to an extent; he did feel great, better every day. But the doctors he'd gone to in New York never did figure out why he'd started getting sick, and the possibility of remission felt like the sword of Damocles.
Vinnie hummed a snatch of the song, interrupting himself with a laugh as be found himself snatched and grabbed once more. "You wore out a lot of dolls as a kid, didn't you?"