"Yeah." Johnny stares numbly at his phone as Gabe's cold, uncharacteristically emoji-less response comes through, then pockets it with another dismissive huff. "Well, we can do whatever. Gabe's setting up an apartment for you and then he's gonna meet us for dinner, if that's okay. He's, um... he's a good guy."

Unlike me.

"Do you, um..." He glances up at her, uncertain how to phrase this. "Do you wanna talk about... anything? Home, or...?"

He can give people food and take them to look at water and ask favors from the archangel he doesn't deserve, but small talk is way, way the fuck outside his wheelhouse. He clears his throat awkwardly. "It's okay if you don't," he grunts. Stupidly.