[It isn't an easy place to be, and it probably isn't an easy place to accept. Willard had fallen into it easily enough, but through the war, he'd learned to accept whatever comes, and after the compound, this place almost seemed fucking normal. He still thinks it's about as normal as any place (because there's nothing normal about any where, nothing normal about the world he'd just come from or the world back in the place that had once been home; everything, everything as fragments, not much fucking more).

Maybe it doesn't work like that for Chef. Willard it prettu sure it doesn't work like that for Chef.]

You don't have to say anything.

[Sometimes words are necessary. Sometimes talking helps. Willard hadn't necessarily thought about that before, but maybe there's truth to it. Maybe even for him... Huh.]

Hell, I can go. [Shit. That probably sounded terser than he'd intended. Willard tries again.] I can let you have your space.

If you decide you want to find me, you'll be able to.

[Willard isn't sure whether he'd prefer to go or stay. He doesn't think into it. Just let it be whatever it is.]