Aren't we dead anyway? What difference does it make?

(oof. but he feels like his point is justified. haru will probably hardly see him during night time, either. there's alcohol to be drunk, people to see, nights to dance away, songs to fill the bars, and drugs he can score with no repercussions whatsoever. pretty interesting to him, but alas.

his lungs fill with smoke and he puffs it away from the apartment, the former stoicism subsiding to a softer side, a smile at that in ways that his eyes almost close.)

Nothing to worry about! I don't need much.

(which brings him to another point.)

You were wealthy, weren't you? My concern is giving you more comfort than taking it for myself.