He listens to her rambling, ear attentive to all of it, not entirely sure if he fucked up by bringing up her home — if that's just going to upset her more than she already was, remind her of what she's lost by being here — or if it's a comfort to reminisce, somehow. But. Too late for that now, probably best to just go along with it.

"Beach doesn't have to be fancy to be good," he says, keeping his tone light. "Sounds like a lot more than I ever had. When I lived in Baltimore, I found this little island off the docks. Wasn't great for swimming, and no cliffs or anything, but, you know. It was mine."

And.

"Sunrise was good, yeah?" he asks, to her, to himself. "Whole new day ahead, warmed everything up. Though I guess mine would've come a couple of hours before yours." Ignore the part where they're probably separated by years, maybe centuries; east coast and west coast were still the same, apparently.