[As always, Ryo comes wielding a half-smile that's anything but and casual movements as though he owns this club, this world, and everything that dare lay upon it. Ryo's demeanor is certainly something and Shinjiro still hasn't quite decided what that something is. Something that half reminds him of his own dismissive facade, maybe-- or something that chills him to his fucking bones, setting into the marrow like a parasite. But the moment is fleeting, and he responds as he usually does: with a play of ambivalence.

It's stupid, and they both likely know it. Acting confident and assured when they're both the sort of low-key fucked up they won't share with one another, both lost in this crazy future world. But there's a comfortable distance in it, a mutual understanding that goes completely unacknowledged and unremarked on.

And so, with a short roll of those slate-grey eyes, he settles back against the fabric of the booth, following Ryo's gaze out to the crowd.]

You fuckin' wish. [There's no venom in the retort, his own lips twisting in a wry sort of half-amusement. His hands come down to his own sides, nestling in the security of his light jacket pockets. (And maybe Ryo has him who might as well be the closest thing he has to a 'friend' in this place--)]

I just wanna know just how a bad an idea this shit is before your floppin' outta you're chair and I gotta drag your ass outta here. [He knows it's likely nothing like that. It'll probably just be an experience of different kinds for them both-- Ryo getting the blissful escape he's come for, and Shinjiro getting to tell himself he's at least doing something by making sure the guy doesn't get robbed or stabbed.]