[ While Robert looks at him, eyes wide, he's patient. His gaze is serious, collected, confident. It has to be, in the face of the panic, otherwise he's angling to shake in a full meltdown. Eventually, Robert calms, taking deep breaths and carefully stepping away to sit down.

The line of his back is bowed, shoulders sloped forward in something resembling resignation. He looks exhausted in more ways than one– Arthur feels a tug of sympathy for him. If there's anything he's intimately familiar with, it's being run ragged, a bone deep tiredness that permeates.

Wanting to even out the subconscious balance of power, he sits next to Robert, makes sure to put a polite amount of space between them. ]

I'm real.

[ In more ways than one, but one thing at a time. ]

Like I said, I don't know. I can theorize– the rest didn't agree, maybe they're in transit and we got here first, maybe they weren't asked. That's all just guesswork. Dwelling on the why isn't going to get us anywhere.