The silence spans ages in single moments, and yet it doesn't feel like a chasm. So often do silences take that shape, and he's lived more than long enough to face his fair share of them. But comfortable silences, too, less often, but more valuable. This one feels like something else. To call it uncertainty wouldn't be doing it justice. It's a new form of terrifying, and the demon isn't sure how he feels about that yet.

But the angel once again puts things into words. The sort of thing he assumed they wouldn't return to, but they do, and thing is laid at their feet then, impossible to ignore.

The angel had said it, he realizes.

And the demon, for a second, had felt it to be true. Isn't that a laugh?

The way he falters isn't neutral. He shakes his head, looking down at their hands. He's hit with a wave of guilt that's nearly overwhelming, but at least he's sitting down.

"I don't." Followed by sudden alarm. "--mind. I mean. I don't- mind it. At all."