Kriff, he wants to run. His coping may not be effective, but it's familiar, and that's close enough. This one might be too much for the small solace of redundant inventory lists and long books and endless walks in the enclosure. It's fine. He has stronger comforts if he needs them. Bolt now and he's got the cat, the whiskey bottle, his safe spot under Hux's arm. He doesn't believe Luke would stop him.

Instead he takes a deep breath and looks up from the tight coil of himself on the chair. "It's fine. Go ahead." It'd be a brazen lie to someone who wasn't force sensitive, but it's more for his own sake than Luke's.