Being called Mr. Rook would usually be the most minor annoyance, a reminder of condescending Academy teachers that also managed to make him feel old before his time, but today it's actually a bit upsetting. Just Rook by itself would be alright, but somehow he feels separated from his name by the honorific, and what is he without that? Even less. Even in this state he recognizes the irrationality in that spiral of ideas, but there's nothing he can really do about it. "Fine," he says too quickly.

Talking about music is much more appealing, and he tries clumsily to bring Credence back to that. If there has to be talking, then he wants it to be talking about something ordinary, something that doesn't make him want to flee the room just because he's not alone in it anymore. "I--I remember them, just, the rhythms are easiest, not, not notes, I'm awful at those..." Now he wants his fingers stilled but he wants to complete the bit of percussion he's tapping out, and he can't quite get it to come out right so he can stop.