"Okay," she repeats, unable to articulate much more. She feels the way her head is gently lifted and something softer than the floor now cushioning it. It smells like him and that's a comfort right now.

Words still have weight, she'd say. How many times had she believed Charlie's words, only to be hurt when his actions said otherwise? How many times in Amani had a different her believed honeyed words from similarly horrible men only to cry over their contradictory actions too? She knows actions speak louder, but she wants to believe in words anyway. It's foolish of her, she'd say, but she can't help but hope someone's words will be true.

Angeal's are, which she appreciates more than he knows. When he returns, she's still prone on the floor but at least her neck won't ache as bad thanks to that coat pillow. "Hurgh," she gurgles, in place of an actual response at first. "No. Obviously, just- Sorry. Still super nauseous."