Ken makes a whining noise in his throat, but some of the tense unhappiness seems to ebb out of him at the slide of Chikusa's fingers through his hair. He presses into the touch, eyes half-lidded. "Which one was the maybe, byon?" Of course Ken can't replay his own words in sequence well enough to keep track of which thing Chikusa was answering when. Or maybe he can and just can't be bothered to try.