This, Echo muses, must be what Fives saw every time I shut down. He supposes he can understand how it would be scary, especially to someone allistic. To Echo, though, it just looks inevitable.
Hunter’s slumped so far down in his seat as to be nearly horizontal, hands curled loosely over his headphones and eyes closed. He opens them as Echo comes closer, gaze wandering semi-focused over the weighted blanket Echo’s got in his hands. Echo offers it to him and he takes it with clumsy hands.
Echo has to help him arrange it over his legs and torso, which Hunter isn’t a fan of. As soon as he’s comfortable, Echo is shooed away and Hunter retreats back into himself, shutting his eyes and covering his ears and humming something out-of-tune and repetitive as the pressure does its work.
Echo settles down across the cabin, datapad in hand and book pulled up, ready to pass as much time as Hunter needs.