It is at that point in time that something collides with him with the force and velocity equivalent to that of a ballistic projectile, disrupting his center of balance and forcing him to adjust for the drastic difference in weight distribution. He tenses, assuming direct skin contact to mean forceful intervention of some kind, but the purpose of said contact becomes perfectly fucking clear in short order.

"Ms. Asadi," says Rush, slowly, breathlessly, and then, with the requirement of empirical evidence to confirm his analysis because hallucinatory output is not out of the question given his present situation, he pulls his arms around her, fisting fingers into the fabric at her shoulders.

All heuristic evidence would dictate that she is both tangible and real.

Some sort of extension of that verbal response is in all likelihood both expected and required.

Rush finds he can think of nothing to say.