Wolfgang feels briefly guilty; they're the one people get into.
(Last week was a rough one. The doctor's upped their Latuda.)
They put their hand over Michael's; their palm is cool, their hands are always so cold, especially in this weather, and they forgot gloves again. “Yes, um — I think I know.” They saw him in space. They saw him in a dream.
See — this isn't so bad. He's taking it well, he's happy about it. That sounds like a joke to Wolfgang, the kind of thing their own parents would say about them. ('Ha! Good luck with that!' Geez, thanks, mum.) They manage a smile. It's still difficult. “We've, um, been talking about this for a long time.” Well, a couple weeks, which in a way is for the best — it means they're not jumping into anything rashly, and still want to do it. It's just logistics at this point.
Should they make a joke? They kind of don't want to, at least not along the same lines. 'Ha ha, you're weird'? Nope.