Krouse brought this up to talk about it. That helps. Also the beer. And her picture, with her brown eyes looking always out, although not close enough to really see all the secret shades of brown they really were when he got close enough to try to count them.

"Yeah," Krouse says, thumbing the edge of the picture frame, "Yeah. She did."

If Riz hadn't heard 'her' through the wall, Krouse is aware he might still not be able to really talk about this. There's a part of him that flinches from sharing too much. But mad at him, even as mad as she got, that's almost safe. That's understandable. Getting mad at him is just a thing everyone can nod at.

And Krouse knows Fabian won't talk, is the thing. Fabian doesn't even have to promise. He's a good guy like that.

"It sucked," he says, which is maybe more honest than he's ever been about how he felt about it, "I knew it wasn't her fault - and in my case, I fucking deserved it most of the time, so it was really my fault - and I knew she hated it too. She hating losing control, you know? If she was going to be mad, she wanted to be mad on purpose, not..."

He reaches for his beer and takes another drink, the taste literally bittersweet, which he guesses is what people must like about beer. It's growing on him.

"My point is," he says, like he's got one, "It sucks. Because it's not them, but it's like, parts of them. It gets to you."