"It's not something I need to hear about," he says simply, discounting the idea that she might want, or need to. In his experience the people who want to talk about their loss will do it regardless, and the people who need to stumble over their attempts far more than she has. Not that he isn't interested; it feels like a more intimate conversation than whatever hangs between them currently allows.

Besides, listen too long and people expect you to talk.

Short work made of his food, he rubs crumbs from his hands back into the plastic food wrapper, tossing that back into the bag with a disinterested sweep of his gaze over the magazines he's brought along. There's a crossword puzzle in the back of one; he picks it out and flicks through. "God I hope everybody's sane again soon."