... oh. They are no longer holding hands. This is unfortunate and yet he is not yet sure how to make it happen again without revealing that he is a lovesick fool.

Silently, Watson curses himself.

"And yet, one does not like to speak ill of the dead," he says. He watches Cerrit drink idly, wondering when that became so normal to him. "On the other hand, I suppose I'm dead too now. So they tell me. There are a few symptoms that seem to contradict that theory, if you ask me." He shakes his head, and has another drink.