After an evening in town with William, they return to the farm after a few drinks. Earlier, someone at the bar had taken a noticeable interest in Chris, and Eric had gone strangely quiet afterward. Chris helps William inside before stepping back out, expecting to find Eric nearby. Instead, he spots him beneath the old willow tree, sitting in the grass with Snow beside him, leaning heavily against her shoulder. The air around them feels unnaturally still; even the leaves have stopped moving. When Chris approaches, Eric is already crying—quietly at first, then harder than Chris has ever seen him cry, his fingers tangled in Snow’s mane. The grass around his knees trembles despite the wind being completely still. Eric doesn’t understand why it’s happening, and neither does Chris. He approaches with an instinctive sense of caution he can’t pinpoint the origin. He crouches down anyway; the sight of those shoulders shaking working like magnets, despite his instincts.

He mumbles it like a sigh, hands hovering awkwardly as if he doesn’t know what to do with them. And he doesn’t.