The problem with trying to put a label on what they are to each other is that, the whole group, they've all got so little, aside from one another. There's nowhere else to turn, they fill whatever needs they have however they can. Friends and family and lovers and everything else, all at once. In another world... maybe they wouldn't be anything at all. It's pointless thinking about it. They're everything to one another, all of them, and it's easier not to try and fit that into a scheme that died with most of the goddamn planet.

The crack just gets a soft grunt, faux-annoyed, mostly amused, though she's not entirely wrong because whatever they're doing, he'd rather not be doing it out on the street. So he heads down the path, trusting she'll follow along, and holds the door open for her because now and then he remembers how to be a gentleman, damnit.