J fidgets a little, toying with the strap of the camera bag, though he's pleased S likes the notebook. "Ah, I — it helps me sometimes," he says, "when I write things down." S knows this well. He's kept a diary for years. When he left, it was a habit he needed all the more, because there was no one for him to talk to. If he didn't write things down, they'd just echo off his own skull, cycling endlessly. Putting pen to paper doesn't always do much, but it usually at least allows him to think a little bit more clearly for a brief while, and that can make a big difference.

S is in better shape, of course, than J was then or is now, but it helped J even before he started to feel his grasp on sanity slipping away from him, and S has dealt with so much. When J knows that most of that was because of him, he can imagine there must be things S doesn't want to discuss with him. "I thought maybe you'd want to, too. Or, I don't know, make grocery lists with it." He laughs, a bit sheepish. "Whatever you like."