[By this point, Paul isn't surprised that Oscar picked up on his slight secondary implication. It just adds another degree to the tilt of his smile, his mouth beginning to part to respond with something else wry and precisely formulated - and it keeps parting in soft surprise when Oscar produces the fern.

It looks all right. Better than it should, if someone really vomited on it, and Paul reaches for it without hesitation. If Oscar has gone to the trouble to hold onto some secret revenge hidden in a plant pot, Paul would almost think he deserves to see it unfold.

Nothing happens. Paul brings the fern to him like a precious, fragile heirloom, securing it in the crook of his arm. His surprise gives way to subdued gratitude, something even more delicate at its edges.]

Thank you.

[It's been months since Paul has felt humbled in this way, unsettled in the presence of grace, unearned and unwarranted. Oscar could have asked for more than this from him, or refused on principle. And so, because he was asked for so little, he feels the need to give more. It's a strange thing, reciprocation.]

I've been hearing that, lately. [About secrecy; about communicating your wishes.] Oscar...if there ever is anything you need to know - anything that might harm you, or your household - I will tell you, if I can. I'm trying to be better about that.