Brows furrowing at Zelos' tone, worry lacing into the ease Lloyd had lowered himself down into, he tries to pick apart Zelos' words, his sigh. He doesn't seem mad or even specifically upset, but the way he just says his piece brings Lloyd back to their earlier conversation on their walk. It feels blank, a musing that isn't deep on the surface but probably hides something in its depths, and Lloyd can't help but hate that he's incapable of reading through it.

"It's real," he agrees, voice softening as he lifts himself up, placing his hands behind him to support himself. Lloyd wants to say more, offer Zelos some sort of comfort, but Zelos isn't even looking at him. Does he hate being here that much? Or is it possible that Zelos has something he hasn't felt like he could say stuck in his throat? Guilt itches up Lloyd's spine, settling an unfair amount of pressure on his shoulders. All this time spent thinking about him, and he hasn't once thought to ask Zelos about how he felt.

So he fixes that. "Is there... Is there something bothering you, Zelos?"