Platitudes itch to spill from his tongue; he swallows them only with difficulty. Instead, he goes with Ren, lets Ren guide him, settling in his arms and then pulling him close in turn, returning his hand to tangle in that mess of hair.

"You really should text Crow back," he says, absently and not as if he really thinks so. He could have died; would have died, without insane luck on his side. Sometimes there really is nothing you can do.