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Horace watched as, through the pages, Melvin grew older, less happy-looking. He wondered what it was like to have such a big family. "You had a nice, big family. Should make an album for the island, too. Print out pictures for you to flip through, too. Some people keep going on that the island here is a big family, now, too." There was an unspoken edge to his words, a certainty that some of the people Melvin would take pictures of here would be victims of mortality.

He stopped looking at the pictures and turned instead to Melvin, wondering about his sudden hesitance. "So I can help, of course," he said, mock offended. "Why else would I ask?"

The outpouring of negativity from Melvin startled Horace and he could only listen. Melvin wasn't wrong necessarily, but he also wasn't right. "You don't think the friendships people form here are enough?" he said quietly, unable to think of anything else to say. But Melvin's words about Rin had him listening intently again and he felt his lips press together in a thin line. Was that what Melvin thought of him - that he wasn't good enough? He felt his eyebrows rising up into his hairline.

"Well, yes, I ******** love Jan, but you're also my friend and I hope I would never have to choose between you two. But I guess just being friends isn't enough for you, is it?" He stood, clearly offended. "That's a real ******** lonely road you're gonna walk then, if you can't trust anyone unless they devote themselves entirely to you. It's damn unrealistic and just makes everyone else feel like s**t. Anyway, let me leave you to your pictures that you can trust." Horace grimaced and started to leave.

"Oh course we're already dead. We were dead the moment we said yes to coming here." He stopped at the door frame and turned, leaning on it to look at Melvin. "Maybe I came here because it was a death I felt had more control over. And maybe I don't have that control - but I would goddamn die if it was to keep Jan alive, or you, or Hattie, or Oliver, or any number of my friends." He shoved his hand through his hand carefully did not think about what he would do if things happened again, if Jan asked him to die by his hand. It was all confusing and he wished he could ******** forget because everything said he shouldn't love, shouldn't long for, shouldn't need Jan. But he did.

Anger still made his shoulders tense, but he wasn't leaving yet. "When was I supposed to tell you? Sometime in between her messages and when I went to talk to Jan?" That couldn't be what Melvin meant. He felt his chest get tight. "Or do you mean later - when I have a hard enough time now ******** t-thinking about it myself?" Slowly, he slid down the wall until he met the floor with a solid thump, anger twisting into miserableness.

"What am I s-supposed to do? You want everything? I have to.. I have to make it okay. I c-can't-" He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. "How is this t-trust?"

"I talked to you about him - maybe I didn't say his name, but I told you I was dating s-someone." His voice was low and Horace didn't move, not even to look at Melvin. "And I n-never never had a hard time with him before... b-before..." He took a deep, deliberate breath - in, out, again. And when he was sure he wasn't going to be utterly ridiculous, he dropped his hands; they hung limply where they fell. They'd had a few fights, small, jealousy-ridden things, but nothing serious. Nothing enough that he felt he had to talk to someone else about it. Even with Taym and America's accusations, he researched them himself because he thought if someone wanted to know, all they had to do was look at Twitter. And he hadn't wanted to drag his friends in, let anyone see that he had ever doubted Jan.

Finally, he looked up at Melvin - but not quite, instead looking past him slightly. "I didn't come to you b-because there was nothing to tell. There was nothing and then... everything." He took a deep breath, deliberately schooled his voice. He needed to stop being so goddamn weak, Horace told himself. "I couldn't tell anyone after, because no one understood. And no one will. I'm still in ******** love with him, but I'm scared, Melvin. Do you ******** get it now?" He felt his mouth twist and clenched his teeth.

"Nobody could've ******** protected me, and maybe I didn't wanna be protected. They said I asked for it, so they must be right." His voice grew hard. "So you don't get to put yourself down, you don't get to put me down over some goddamn rescue that couldn't have happened!" Abruptly, he slammed his hand on the floor. "None, none of my friends would have found me. You why and how the others did? Because they hated Jan enough. That's ******** why. The reason I was rescued-" he spat the word as though it was a curse. "-had nothing to do with me." A muscle in his jaw ticked and Horace's eyes looked wet although he refused to cry.

"So what the ******** was I supposed to tell you to make you seem like we're friends enough? Do you want a damn play-by-play of what happened?"

"No, n-never," he said softly. Excepting, of course, where he had specifically asked for it, in bed, but that was different. Jan had been sweet, loving, and everything had been a lie. But even then, Horace thought, Jan hurt him because he deserved it, because that was what he got. And that was what made it difficult - was he just acting like some child, upset at an unexpected outcome? It had hurt, it had been the most frightening and painful thing he'd ever experienced, and he knew - if he allowed himself to think about it - he knew that Jan would've killed him. How was he supposed to deal with this from a man he loved, especially when he still loved him, wanted nothing more than for everything to be okay again somehow, even if it wasn't.

He'd sought answers, confided in people, but no one had ever told him how to resolve the two warring halves of his emotions. No one seemed to understand that he couldn't just throw away his feelings, couldn't not long for Jan, still. So Horace had waited, and waffled, caught in a kind of half-life between what had happened and what he wanted. "I asked for it, I must have." Those were the words that made things okay, the sort of fairytale he spun around himself with others' help. Horace clenched his hands into fists. The absence of his ring finger was a reminder that never went away.

"D-don't worry about it," he said and forced out something resembling a smile. All the while in the back of his mind, he could feel Jannisari watching, judging. There was a weakness in him that needed to be burnt out. "I... I should probably go." But Horace made no effort to move, not just yet. He just needed another couple of minutes. And then he would go. And then he would be able to push everything back again, to not think.

It was Melvin's clumsy attempt at comfort that pulled him out of his slow spiral. (A stopgap, perhaps, but just enough for now.) He laughed, a llittle, and pulled away.

"It's... it's okay, Melvin. I'll be fine." He reached out with his right hand and ruffled Melvin's hair. He was okay; he was fine; eveyrthing would be alright when Jan came back. Wobbling a little, he tried to stand, his legs feeling odd and shakey. "I still... gotta go... got things to do. It's okay."

He didn't know who he was convincing.