"Ah," he sighs, taking the flask in hand. As wilted as he looks, he seems perfectly comfortable standing in the doorway of his home, being handed coffee by a friend. Over his shoulder his Klefki appears, jingling curiously.

Mulcahy takes a sip. "Thank you for that. You're not wrong at all. I've been doing... poorly, I'm afraid. It mostly comes down to having trouble sleeping." Clearly. "And you? How have you been?"