[ Poor, poor Gregor. There's a flicker of sympathy from Mile - a sort of "there there" motion against the outside of his shields. Miles inability to keep all of himself to himself is balanced by being very good at communicating when he wants to. In other words: he's loud.

And he can't help but grin a little wider the more he feels Gregor slip up. He'll stop in a moment, he swears. It's that extra bit of awkwardness more than the leading question that finally convinces Miles to open up, though the question doesn't hurt either. It gives him an easy avenue out of his corner. Lowering the wall, so to speak. ]

I ... yes. Spinning my wheels is a good way to put it. Though I'm not sure where I would go even if I had traction. There's nowhere to go.

[ His mouth twists a bit at the admission, a black blot of ink for the accompanying emotion. Murky unhappiness. ]