The declaration makes her huff out a little laugh despite herself. She doesn't know how she made such a habit of befriending big, burly, foul-mouthed men, but she's glad for it. She probably needs it.

"Fuckin' shite," she repeats quietly, imitating his accent a bit as she forces herself to sit up next to him, slumping back against the sofa. Her hair is in loose tangles around her face because she just hasn't had the energy to brush it. Her eyes hurt from crying. She hurts in so many ways that her magic can't fix.

"I don't know to process it," she says as she tips towards him a little, breathing in deep as she keeps her eyes on the television, though she couldn't tell him what was even playing on it. "He-- he didn't have a happy life back home. He died. So it isn't like I can pretend that he's back home and happy. If he isn't here, he's dead. It feels like he died."