Les leaned forward attentively as Felix broke into his explanation, soothed by how easily and confidently he was able to describe his work. Although he still had questions, he held back, satisfied for the moment by his answer. With a bit of pause, licking his lips before pursing them, Les glanced down at his arm, running a thumb over it self-consciously. "Yeah. Okay. Plug-thing. Sounds better than my current deal," he joked, swallowing his anxiety. If they had been working on this whole new prosthetic-thing for years, surely there was no reason to be nervous about it, even if it was a new trial. He had been through worse. This was going to help him, he reminded himself.<br/><br/>When Felix made his own uncertainty and anxiety apparent, noting worriedly that Les could find someone else to coach him, he shook his head with dainty confidence, his chin high. If this guy was nervous, too, should he feel so weird about it? Les couldn't even say that his lingering panic was because of the trial itself-- deep down, he knew his issues lay with the PTSD he regularly worked to conceal-- so if this man was mutually approaching him with some sort of wrench in his gut, why should he let his own issues distract him?<br/><br/>Even though he was here as a patient, here to be cared for and worked on, Les couldn't deny his instinct to soothe, to please. "No sweat," he started, pausing to take another sharp breath, letting his false confidence rise with the air in his lungs, "I think we'll get along<i>wonderfully</i>." He narrowed his eyes and offered a smile before tittering again, shaking his head. "Trust me,<i>you'll</i>want to get rid of<i>me</i>. I never give up on projects," he joked, tilting his head with a humorous smile. Hair escaped the trappings of his ear and he pushed it back over his head, messing up the even middle part of his hair.<br/><br/>When Felix requested his arm, Les offered it with mild hesitation, almost physically fighting back his anxiety. "Go ahead," he nodded, scooting forward to the edge of his chair, watching his stub intently. These people<i>had</i>to be used to people far worse off than himself, he considered, they were dealing with<i>amputees</i>. He wasn't the only asymmetrically-limbed asshole buoying a boatload of trauma. "Just don't get too rough and rowdy, okay? My nerves are still made of flesh down there." He nodded his chin at the handless arm, rotating it so that his wrist was facing Felix.