[ Worry and weighing someone down are two different things to her. She watches him for a moment and realizes that perhaps that's a notion, an idea, that they don't share in. For Aerith, the decision to worry about her is something she treats with great respect and gratitude. She'll always be a little possessed by the little girl held in captivity, who was forced to paint her visions on the walls and on paper, and hope and pray no one was punished for them. Trahearne is, to that end, a world away from her, but some day, maybe, she'll hear about that. Maybe she'll understand, then.

Thank goodness the joke lands, because his laugh cuts through the tension like knife through butter. ]

Don't laugh! I'm really bummed now!

[ Her voice, overdramatic and performative, does not match the way she smiles as bright as the sun, so wide that the corners of her eyes are crinkled with joy. She could ride the high of making him laugh for weeks now. ]

If it's hurting you, I can try, too. You could come visit, if you want. It isn't a full fix, but I might be able to make it a little bearable, at least. Good thing you lived, or else I'd never get to invite you over to my house.

[ She's teasing— though it's true, of course. ]

You need people worrying about you more, I think.