"Thank you," S says, barely even sure which part he's responding to, too overwhelmed to even begin to process all of what he's just been told yet, but grateful all the same. Not many people would stop to help a crying stranger, he thinks. At least, in his shock, the tears have stopped coming, his thoughts sufficiently focused elsewhere now, though when he realizes again that he's still holding fast to J's notebook, he spares it a brief glance then slips it into the pocket of his coat. There will be more time later to grieve. He already knows too well that it never really goes anywhere, just changes shape and size, sometimes able to be pushed aside for a while. Something of this scope, daunting enough to make his head spin, is more than capable of that.

A city that's its own whole world. A place that's impossible to leave. Housing and needs provided for, which is a strange concept in its own right — something that he can't help but think, almost a little hysterically, would have served him well when he first struck out on his own a few years ago, though he can't really regret any of the time spent in that cramped studio. But that's a line of thought he can't continue with now, and, apparently, somewhere he can't return to anyway.

That hurts. Being surrounded by memories did, too, but at least it was something to hold onto. Now, there is — well, from the sound of it, just him and what he has on his person, and he still doesn't understand any of it, but he also still doesn't see any particular reason to doubt what he's being told. This would all be much too extreme for some sort of cruel joke, and it wouldn't explain how he came to be here anyway, an apparent world away from where he just was.

"For all of your help," he adds after a moment. "I'm still not sure I understand, but... I appreciate it."