[ It's another reminder of all the ways they're subtly opposites. The solace Michel finds in the artificial distance, Ganymede finds in this equally artificial closeness. The illusion of being able to reach out and touch a person an unknown thousands of kilometers away.

Michel watches as that light wind lifts the strands of Ganymede's hair, the sunlight illuminating it like a halo. He doesn't look like someone who was just in the hospital. But that's the illusion of this place as well. ]

I'm... even more terrible at this in person.

[ "In person," such as this is. But Ganymede's words make him aware of the breeze, the sun. Isn't it... because he wanted to try to reach for those things one more time that he'd joined this beta in the first place? ]

But I— I can't very well tell you to go out and enjoy the real sky after telling you to rest.