[ Wrapping his arms around his knees, V tilts his head just enough that he's looking at Johnny from the corner of his eye. In this dream - or a flickering, digitized, visual private showing out in the real world - Johnny commands the space he occupies, and it's more than just the fact he's literally overwriting V's personality. Some people are just like that. Johnny's one of them. He wonders what it's like being able to walk into a room and turn every head in it.

Part of him's surprised at the answer, a little. Another part? That part of him thinks it must be exhausting to be Johnny. Everything's a corpo-infected wrong to right; to Johnny's vision of right. Once the man's set his sights on something, feels like there's nothing that can get in his way. V can't help but wonder if Johnny's tired of all of it, just won't back down from it. Can't.

V's not all that well-versed in understanding his own ideals. Thought that making a name for himself in Night City was an ideal worth chasing. Or, more like, worth hunting down with a fully loaded iron and just about good enough at what he does to balance out the recklessness. Freedom, yeah, that's one of them. But his version of freedom and Johnny's feels different, and Night City... now he knows it's not for him, not a place he'd still be if it wasn't for their shared situation. People living in the city like that, all on top of each other? It's not right.

As Johnny brings the point back home, V's eyebrows draw down, eyes as green as the grass squinted and hued with an assessing shade. ]

Can't a dream just be nice? 'sides, ground has swallowed me up out there in the real world. Don't need a dream for that to happen. Got my teeth knocked out when I was seven fightin' over toasted marshmallows. And there was this one time-

[ His lips tug into an amused, nostalgic sort of smile. Briefly wistful before edging towards rambunctious in nature. ]

Got chased damn near halfway across the desert without my pants.