Shit. Shit. He hates being so noticeably out of place that some stranger comes and asks him that, even with all the costuming. Sets his heart racing, which probably just makes the radiating anxiety louder. It hasn't really occurred to him that this is a side effect of the mental link, still unused to that: he just has anxiety's twisted certainty that he is standing beneath a bright spotlight, surrounded by judging eyes.

"I'm fine." Flat, forced out. Clammed up. Maybe he should be drinking.