[He hums irritably under his breath. Hovers like half an inch from saying something mean before the beneficial effect of actual human contact starts to trickle in. Starts winding some of the desperate ache out of his system and some of the brittle irrational aggression out of his head and makes it that much easier to bite himself back and focus. Like breaking your head above water. It's subtle but tangible, he keeps quiet but relaxes a few inches back into his chair and leans into her cling without comment, shifts to knock their knees together and better bridge the space between chairs for her. It's—well, it's better, even just that little bit. Any reprieve at all. A second or two off-beat and not as sharply edged as it could be—]

Why, are you gonna tell me it'll cut my life expectancy in half?

[Threaten to make him eat the pack one butt at a time? He's heard that before. The window is still cracked just enough to let a little fresh (cold) air in, but clearly chainsmoking has been his casual coping mechanism of choice, so far.]

If you've got better options for self medication, I'm all ears.

[Nicotine suppresses appetite, y'know, that's science. Who knows if it's even enough to combat the virus or if it's just comfort in old habits. Everyone's got their vices.]