"Why does something have to be real to mean something to you?" he shrieked in a level volume, grabbing the air like he was yanking out of frustration at a tablecloth that refused to give way. "Haven't you ever had a dream? A hope? A thought so fantastic you would spend hours pondering it? They're no flesh and blood, but they're there, and- and-"

Give him a moment; he needs to sniffle.

"In my dream... Just a bit ago... Yes, I remember. Cress had been taking on too many orders, and felt a little overwhelmed balancing all those trays... I never told anyone, though. Despite that... Citron tapped Cress on the shoulder and offered to help out. I was so grateful..."

It was clear that Cress had invested quite a lot of feelings into these figments of his imagination.