You're not Winston!

[Okay, that's probably not helpful, but damnit Dillon could feel him - her -]

Calm down, okay, just - don't move.

[He doesn't ask where she is. He can feel that, too, like gravity, like fishing line tangled on his ribs. He runs, skids to a stop about three feet away, askew, staring. How is this real.]

He's - look, either you're different or I'm different, it doesn't really matter. The point is we'll get through it together.

[It matters, it matters, why aren't you Winston - but he takes her hand, because he can't not, because they're pieces of each other.]

Not recently.

[So aggrieved. It's just - so easy, to fall into it, the breathtaking ineffable intimacy of syntaxis, they just fit. She seems exactly like the kind of person who would have threatened to shoot him with a gun as tall as she was when he was being crazy.]

I mean. Erm. Depending on...when you think it is.