When Jayden finally sits it leaves Blake perceptively more at ease and he shifts on the bed to center himself. He tugs his legs in and sits criss-cross applesauce, socked toes peeking out and flexing. If he looks like a kid, it's because he feels like one again. Powerless, captive by others' good intentions, antsy and angry (mostly at himself), he's reminded of the years in the boys' home and the pockmarked meetings with foster families that would inevitably return him like an unfit shelter dog.

"It sucks," he agrees, a little petulant about it.

There's a long breath here where he reaches up and rubs his face tiredly. When he finally sighs it out, he drops his hands and they slap on his knees. He's just so tired. And sad and angry and upset and— Well, the point's made, anyway.

"When you mentioned your last case, it sounded... rough. What if that'd been what you'd been led into durin' your first trip in? You've got no memory of the place or yourself and there's some other person who's not ever gonna unsee it.

"And when you finally come to, back in the real world or whatever," he gestures around, "you've prob'ly gotta explain yourself, right?" He frowns. "Even if it's mundane, people've always got questions."