Zenigata has emerged from the bedroom by the time he gets back, though the place is still dark. He's sitting on the futon by the window, with it cracked open enough to let the smoke trickle free in pale gray wisps. When the door opens, he squints, but then nods.

"Sorry," he says, and he does manage to sound repentant through the thickness of his gummy mouth. "I -- I should have maybe warned you, but my old friend Migraine-san dropped by."

Well, that's what he calls the hallucination that wobbles into his auras, anyway. It's sort of man shaped. And blue. Mostly blue.