[ Such a small thing. Lowering a weapon. Letting a moment progress. Staying in the aftermath. And then Drake starts to say more, to —

Ephemera bows his head. Counts to five and then lets it out. There was a psychiatrist who told him to try that after he'd been arrested the first time. He'd thrown a chair at her. Broke the cuffs to do it. Doesn't quite remember what happened next except that she'd gotten him in a headlock and that was the end of his mandated therapy.

Count to five. Hold. Then let it go.

It helps, for a moment. Maybe he should have paid more attention. He feels like he's missing details, that he'd know more if he just paid attention. And more than a small part of him wants to reach out, to stand closer to Drake or hook their arms together, just stand in proximity, but that's a foolish, dangerous thing to want.

Ephemera shivers again. He lets it go. ]

I thought I was done with other people. Before I got here. I was okay with that. But then I got here and—and it felt good, for a moment. Thought maybe I could try again.

[ A mistake, in all likelihood. But he wants it still. That closeness. ]

Thank you. For staying.