[At once Casey melts into the hug, quietly wallowing into their feathers as they speak, soaking in every word. He's quiet still for a little while after, thinking carefully on their words.]

I... guess that's true. There's still a lot of old habits I can't let go of. Maybe I never will.

[His mask, his gear- he doesn't feel safe, not entirely, unless he has them close by. Sometimes he can manage it without his grapple, and more often these days without his armour even under his clothes, like for parties or hangouts with Rue or date nights. But the mask, the chainstick. Always at his side. He needs it, or he can't breathe right, can't relax. Eight months can't undo a full lifetime of hypervigilance. The very basic concept of going barefoot still fills him with dread. (What if the Krang show up? What if they've spread their infection in the ground somewhere? It could be anywhere. On the street, in the woods, on his carpet- he can't. He can't. Socks or shoes, he needs a barrier.)

His fingers curl in Rue's feathers. He's not used to it, and... that's okay.]

...I'm... being too hard on myself again, aren't I. [It's not a question. Grace. He needs to give himself some grace.] You're not there yet, either?