"If you want, people have before." The question of what to wear and whether she's inclined to care about his presence isn't one he'll ask. He's running on less than fumes, carried on the momentum of his own two feet, and now that he's stopped, his mind is similarly stalled.

All he can do is rest his eyes down on the carpet of green like he's never seen it before, hands at his sides, gaze trailing patches of blue blossoms popping under the ferns. He's never known the name of them, but they're almost familiar, the kind of flowers that grew through cracks in sidewalks and choked the short grass around a gutter drain. A sign of spring that might bleed out from this place to the rest of the canyon. Might bloom up over the grave when it's finished.

It isn't a bad thought, but it reminds him of the long hours left to work when they return. "Come on," he says idly, finally making his legs move and pulling from her orbit. He only needs space to crouch and pull at his laces with his shaking fingers, wanting to feel something other than dirty socks under his toes, wanting to soak some of the ache from his legs.