Amos follows her gaze, glancing down, the ball still at his feet. Huh. Kinda forgot about that. Got lost in... whatever it is he's trying to do. Trying to make her feel better, he figures, though who knows how well he's doing on that front.

He kicks the ball back over.

"Yeah, maybe. Definitely worse things you could be up to. I never really got the hang of mornings," he says. Pauses for a moment, like he's weighing an internal debate; shrugs, goes for it. "Lydia, the woman who looked after me when I was growing up, eventually she had to figure out how to get me out of bed. Took a while. You get a bucket of water dumped on you enough times, though, you start to figure it out."

There's a distant fondness to his voice, one he probably doesn't even really recognize. That was a while ago. Completely different lifetime, really.