The king is left to dangle midair for a moment while Bunny leans back to regard the current configuration of chess pieces. Might make more sense to start the whole thing over. Alternate pawns. Shit.

He snags the king. Folds his fingers around it and braces his fist under his chin.

"I mean, don't know if anyone's got therapy anymore." It was mandated in juvie. But, yeah, whole apocalypse really put a dent into that routine. Probably for the best that the old dudes do their costume-assisted macking or whatever. "So. Emotional support leather jackets might be it."