[Fugo nods. Normally, he might argue that he can at least make it up to the kitchen-- if not help Bucciarati with the task. But he really is very tired. His body is heavy; a dull headache pounds between his temples. The thought of dragging himself and all of his limbs up to the top floor, honestly, sounds exhausting.]
Okay. I'll leave the door open for you. [His hand falls back down to the side and he turns back into his room.] Thanks, Bucciarati.
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Okay. I'll leave the door open for you. [His hand falls back down to the side and he turns back into his room.] Thanks, Bucciarati.