[If Peter's a mess, he's at least a reassuring one. It's nearly impossible to fake this level of nervous awkwardness, something Paul knows from experience. He was never good at it, at least.

What he is good at, or so he likes to believe, is being a steadying influence. He takes Peter's hand in a firm, but not overbearing, clasp, pumps it up and down twice, and releases it like he's practiced since coming to Trench. His own smile stretches out wider and warmer.]

I am. It's a good party, and I'm getting to meet so many people. [Like Peter, for example.] You can still bump into me, if you want to. I'll pretend not to pay attention.

[He flashes his teeth in a fleeting grin after only a moment's pause to let the joke float between them.]

I'm sorry. I think I'm funnier than I am. What were you hoping to bump into me for?