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Jordan laughed again. "I'm always up for talking," he said. "When I'm capable of it, at least." He leaned back on the counter. "It would be weird to only talk to one person all the time, though. I'm glad they can get out in golems now and then."

I am used to it, Ferros said mildly. It is what I know.

They'd had discussions from time to time about weaponization, about its morality and function, discussions that ultimately went nowhere and left them feeling troubled. They agreed that protecting humans was a necessary thing, and that the hunter-weapon bond was necessary for what they did, and Ferros knew that he had chosen this state in the same way that he knew the essential things about Halloween, but there was no denying that weapons were dependent on their hunters and their memories were fragmented and wiped away, and that weapon recruitment was likely often as unscrupulous as hunter recruitment. They were better together, the bond powerful and deep and satisfying, but they knew also that that wasn't true for many other bonds.

Were there better ways? Maybe. They didn't know. They had no satisfactory answer.

"I've been working on my room," he answered. It was not quite dodging the question. "Adjusting." The corners of his mouth pulled down. "It wasn't real, but we all experienced it together. It happened, even if it was only a dream." He slanted a thoughtful look at Melvin. "I don't remember what it was like, when the cove finally called me. Only that I needed to go and that I was relieved that I wouldn't be alone any more. I wonder why it took me last."

"Real enough." Jordan watched Melvin. "The ones that other people experience as well, I count as real. Even if they were dreams." He swallowed. "I have to assume this is the one we live in. This is the one we keep coming back to, so it must be the central one for us. But I don't think that means the other ones aren't real."

He rubbed a hand over his eyes tiredly. "We're never the same after this s**t happens. We had a year to sit with ourselves and think about s**t. It might've been a year lived in a dream, but we still lived that year. We remember it." He stopped leaning on the counter, brought his hands back around in front of himself almost absently to touch and stroke the ring on his index finger. Its red stone brightened in response. "If some of the others want to decide it wasn't real, that's their prerogative. But this is how I cope."

"Nothing significant," and Jordan sounded tired, maybe even bitter. "Haven't seen him since we returned, either. What about you? Been to see Lawrence?" Melvin hadn't been trapped for a year with his ex. Maybe that was worse, maybe that was better.

Jordan studied Melvin's expression. He wasn't sure what he was looking for. "Getting out on your own is probably better," he agreed. "Hope the rain lets up soon. I'm getting pretty sick of it."

"I'm not sure what I'm doing," he admitted. "Something's got to give, eventually. But I don't know what."

"If someone dies before something changes, statistically it'll probably be me," Jordan said, almost casually. "In an ideal world? Whose?" He sighed. "I'm not getting what I want; Harrison isn't going to forgive me. He's made that clear. I'm not even sure what the fallback option is any more. I guess that would be the first thing to figure out, wouldn't it?"

"It's been a long time. Longer, now." Jordan's gaze slid to the floor, and he stared at it without seeing it. "There's not much point in talking about wanting something when you know you can't have it. I don't know what I'm trying to prove. To myself or anyone else."

He spread out his hands and looked at them for a moment, then turned back to the counter and reached up to the cabinet where he kept the coffee. "I could hold on, or I could give up," he said, almost to himself.

The quick motion took him by surprise, and the touch if hands on his even more so. He listened as Melvin spoke, an outpouring of words that was maybe about Melvin as much as it was about him, and it fed something in him that had been a silent scream for longer than he was willing to admit, an internal tension between what he wanted and what he would not take. He held Melvin's hands and breathed raggedly, the internal conflict for once openly visible on his face.

When Melvin stopped, he took a deep breath and said, "I'm so tired of someone else getting what I want." Being touched, even in so small a way, woke a deep-seated and badly neglected need for human contact, for uncomplicated affection, and without thinking about it he pulled Melvin into a hug.

Jordan hadn't realized how very badly he wanted to be just held until now. He'd known in a sort of abstract way that he would like a hug, but it soothed something jagged and painful in him, and the hand stroking his back felt like cold water on a burn. He choked back an irrational urge to apologize for the gesture. He wasn't sorry.

He held on and rested his hands against Melvin's shoulderblades, breathing deep and slow. Melvin smelled clean, lemon and soap, something watery and earthy underneath. It was ... nice. "I won't lose myself," he said quietly, making the promise as much for himself as for his friend.

"I'm probably getting paint on you," he mumbled a few moments later, and his arms loosened slightly to let Melvin pull away if he wanted to. He hadn't considered the paint on his clothes when he hugged Melvin, and it had only just occurred to him.