Just his presence in itself goes a long way, just the solidity and security of feeling K's arms around him, the living movement of his body, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes and the transfer of warmth through the layers of his coat. It matters that K is here, alive despite having gone home to die, despite the sense of finality with which they believed him dead.

It's not that it gives him hope about Carver. It doesn't. He knows better than to try and enter into that kind of calculous. But it does give him comfort of a sort.

This time the tears don't bubble up though. He's almost surprised they don't, that whatever barrier has kept them at bay still holds. The ache of them is there, only knotted up, without the relief of release. Instead he just holds onto K for a long moment before he finally manages back his own small, "Hey."