[The way Oscar shies away from Paul's new estimation says as much as his no longer anonymous message did, another parallel to run him through like a pin. He feels a strange sympatico of uncomfortable revelation. It's not only courtesy that makes him look away this time.

People underestimate him as well. There are times it's an irritant, but rarely does that irritation outweigh the sensation of freedom. He wants to be seen, to be understood (why else is he here, trying to be as honest as he knows how to be?), but he flinches from the reality, because -

It's trite. He's more sick of himself than anyone else is, his own failure to tie off that knot. Oscar thinks he sees Paul, and he has seen more than most people. Perhaps Paul sees more of him than he lets other people see as well.

Perhaps that's a kind of friendship, one he hasn't known before.

He looks around this green and peaceful chamber of Oscar's heart, full of the things he saved from a nightmare. He considers what it means to cultivate something, to carve out a space where things can grow, and what it might say about the person who would choose that over the killing of monsters.]

I think normal is a relative term.

[He turns back to Oscar with a decision made in the clear lines of his jaw and the clarity of new leaf eyes.]

If anything happens, could they come to you? To this place? Gideon, Harrowhark, Palamedes, Kaworu. Would you take them in, offer them your help? Speak out on their behalf?

[He asks the questions plainly and boldly, borne up on an intuition singing in his blood. He thinks he sees, now, the kind of man he's dealing with. A good one.]

That's what would help them. A place they could go for refuge, if they need it. Would you give them that?