[ He palms, idly, at his own jaw again. Subconsciously over the spot where she hit him the first time. Nathan eyeballs the space around them, and he's— well, probably not relaxed. But it's easy to see that he doesn't feel as tightly wound as he did a second ago, and instead of fucking standing around, he takes a seat on a cot. Definitely not his, as a note. ]

Nah.

[ He draws one of his knees up, resting wrist over kneecap. ]

Small communities, 'suppose. There's enough of us. [ A beat. ] Didn't realize how rare we were, until I grew up a little. [ Stopped wholly existing in the upper middle-class world of family legacy, more like.

He looks at her directly, then quirks a brow, glancing around them. A non-verbal just traded one group for another, huh? ]