[That hits closer to the heart than Paul cares for. It sobers him like little else has done, his hand tightening in a twitch around Oscar's as his eyes shutter in their regard. He looks far removed from where they sit, as if his eyes are lit by a foreign sun.

(Grief is a brack water dredge under the moon, a tidal rhythm he still hasn't mastered.)]

Yes. [He sets his focus on their clasped hands.] Fate follows at my heels, and never catches up to me. I see -

Never mind. So are you. Alive, I mean. So that counts for something, doesn't it? That's not so bad.