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Nate was on his knees beside him in a blink.

“I can fix it,” he said. “Leo. Look at me.”

Leo’s lips kept moving. “No. No, no.”

Nate bent lower, trying to catch his eye. “Leo, listen to me.”

Leo didn’t lift his head, and he didn’t listen.

Nate’s hands came up and stopped an inch from Leo’s shoulders. He couldn’t touch. His hands would go through Leo, no matter how much he needed to get his arms around him. No matter how much he wanted to pull him in and hold on until the shaking stopped.

He couldn’t do it.

Unless…

“I’m here,” he said. “Leo. I’m right here.”

Leo didn’t look up.

That was okay. Nate’s decision was already made.

He got to his feet and went to the kitchen, toward the cupboard with the dented tin. The lid came off. The smell was green and bitter. He remembered the taste from when he was thirteen.

There was no time for water.

He dug out a pinch of the dried leaves, put them in his mouth, and chewed.

The painting was ruined.

He’d ruined it. His own hand. The only face, the only proof he’d been here at all and he’d ruined it.

After Nate had put so much work into it.

He truly was useless, wasn’t he? Not worth remembering, not worth⁠—

Was somebody speaking to him?

He felt like he could hear words, but also not.

The room was empty now, and Leo was on the floor. When had he sat down? His hands were around his knees.

The painting was ruined.

He was shaking.

He closed his eyes.

No one could remember him. The world had moved on without him and he wanted to scream. He wanted to⁠—

Coffee.

He could smell coffee and sawdust.

He was still trying to make sense of that when a hand touched his face.

A hand.

Touched.