It's like magic. Well, it probably is magic, but he just marvels at the way Ossie so deftly untangles the briar of his thoughts, this frayed snarl of frustration and stress and split ends. Because yeah. Yeah.

There is really something about it, when you realize you are just never going to be someone going through life with ease now. And he doesn't even know how to complain about it. Which sucks, because complaining is how he copes. Frankly he also doesn't even know if he has forty years left of this or two hundred.

"Yeah... yeah," he nods, sighing. And then puts his face in his hands and just, breathes a very long-suffering groan.