"Oh. Yes. Very," he admits freely, his fingers spidering across the accordion wall looking for... he doesn't know what. A release? A weak spot. "I had largely managed to not think about it, though. I like to consider myself solution-oriented," he tells her. He turns and looks at her. His right hand is shaking faintly and he clenches it into a fist, stuffing it in his pocket. "I spent three days locked in a janitor's closet at boarding school without food or water so we've got, like, two days still before I really start to lose it," he assures, turning back to the wall and his search with his free hand.