Chrissy blinks up at him when he stands, acutely aware for a moment of what a mess she must be, sniffling and teary-eyed, her ponytail tousled. For once, though, she can't let herself dwell on it. With the sleeves of her sweater pulled down over the heels of her hands, she takes a quick pass at attempting to dry her cheeks, then places her hands in his, unsteadily getting to her feet in turn. He's still himself, or he seems to be, still solid and warm and real, and she lingers there for a beat too long, fingers curled around his, before she makes herself let go. Stupid, being so clingy. She must have looked stupid enough trying to buy drugs from him without knowing anything about them. This could only make it worse.

"Thanks," she says, shifting her weight for a moment, uncertain. Her body aches, limbs sore and stiff — not like fresh injuries, but the ghost of old ones, like the time she broke her foot as a kid, then started walking again after her cast came off. Healed, but with the memory of having not been. It's hot out, too much so to be wearing her cardigan, but a shiver runs through her all the same. Now that her face isn't buried in Eddie's shoulder, she can get a better look at where they are, a park she doesn't recognize at all. "Do you know somewhere we can go?"