Exhausted mentally from the attack that somehow never feels less than a step from the grave, Benjiro remains partially absent while Walter is gone, staring off as he waits. When Walter returns, the teen looks up from the ground to the offered open bottle, and takes it gingerly in both hands. Once he has a soft grip with one hand, he uses the other to slip his facemask enough to put the bottle to his lips and gulps half the contents.

Bottle set beside him in the bench to pace himself with his mask returned immediately after, Benjiro looks towards Walter, but not yet to his face. He has to think quite hard to understand the purpose of the wipes, but does piece it together, “Oh...for the glitter. Thanks. It’ll be a start at least.”

Using one hand to rub at his face, Benjiro releases a quivering sigh, then asks with apprehension in his voice, “...Walter? When...when exactly did you figure it out?”