York knows that if the room doesn't fit him properly, then she must be hurting. There's nothing to offer to her though, no larger foyer for her to hang out in. "I just use it as a reminder. When my own memories," and he motions to the items between them, "try to remind me that there a lot of people that think I'm not."

York slides against the cabling of his mind, pulling his knees back up to his chin. "I…I can't hurt this shell. This model. It's the only one I have. My actual shell is lost. I can't get another. I'm… trapped."

The android scrubs his hand over his face, trying to keep it together. A pump that worked to sound like a heart, unregulated emotions, a cooling system to vent through his mouth. All that and no artificial tear ducts to cry. York didn't know if he should be thankful or angry about it.