Stillness. Stagnancy. Neil may be young. He may act out and sabotage his own existence, living as though he might burn to ciders before reaching middle age, but he only knows this. This immobility. This agonizing inertia.

Alex echoes a previous confession, and while Neil understands how hard it is to believe the trust that comes from him, he wishes they could have just moved on.

He opens his dark eyes, the color edging toward black against the dim, his face set toward what's in front of him. "Completely," he says, sounding like death. Like black and its pretty poisons. "I'm sure."