[ Despite the fact that he's talking to someone who he met via judging them for their literary choices, Atsushi is glad for the proffered hand. Misery loves company, maybe? Or maybe it's just that he's glad that this guy hasn't immediately walked away after that fiasco. It's the little things.

So he pulls himself up, dusts himself off with the cat sweater still stuck to his hand. It looks up at him, boring holes into his soul with the dead gaze of scores of fluffy creatures. ]

Ah... thanks. It's just, everything about what's been going on is so irregular...

[ Understatement. ]

It's hard to know what to rule out as impossible anymore.