Billy, guitar across his back, is on his way in for a drink and a snack because hanging out in the plaza playing guitar is thirsty work when he spots a man who so puts his mind of Juji that for a second, he forgets how to breathe. It isn't the mannerisms – no, this fellow moves differently, flightier, somewhere between sneaking and storming as opposed to Juji's surly prowl – it's the mood about him, the numb feeling of emptiness Billy gets just watching him. It's a terrible thing to see; he can't imagine what it's like to feel that way. Juji always plastered anger over it in layers, but the stranger seems to just wear it like it's the most normal thing in the world.

So of course Billy has to at least try to help. If he can, anyway. He changes course from the refreshments table to intercept the newcomer.

"Hey," he says, all conversational and light as he reaches out to rest a hand on the other guy's shoulder, "you okay there?"