"You could say that." Certainly nothing's stopping him, gross understatement or not. Zack's pretty sure he could sleep for a week, if given the chance. And probably eat the whole refreshment table spread unassisted, beforehand. He's running on fumes, feeling a little sick and definitely disorientated, already - but sorting out his new and unfamiliar place in the universe comes first, nothing else.

"So this stuff - really works?" He can't keep the incredulity out of his tone, or off his face, at that. Of course, he'll take the kid's story with a grain of salt. (Sending in the adorable children to pull the wool over his eyes would be a pretty cheap trick.) But hearing him out can't hurt.

A hug probably wouldn't, either, though it's not the reaction he's used to getting from strangers. Especially lately. Crossing his arms, Zack takes a half-step back and puts on a somewhat overwrought frown as he sizes the kid up. "I dunno. Can I trust you?"