He'd forgotten about breathing again, but at her prompt he sucks in a lungful of air and nods. Ow, his lungs. There's no reason his body should hurt just from existing, but at the moment it seems to. The breath rushes out of him again in a sigh.

"I'm good. Well, actually I'm shitty. But I think...I think people are. Everyone with...I mean, it's not me. The shit. It's-it's just everything. I feel like shit because everything is shit."

The answer isn't nice, but it's honest at least. His tone is still vacant and confused, but his words aren't nearly so uncertain. He's had enough of all of this, but no matter how hard he pinches himself, he just can't wake up from the nightmare. There's no use denying that things aren't alright. It's obvious anyway, it has to be. People don't hide in food pantries clicking their heels together in hopes of courage or a way home or a reset button or a new outlook if they're alright. He's not, and he can't imagine how she could be either. Everything just keeps breaking.