"I give good hugs," says Chelsea.

"You very much do." That was probably one of the best hugs he ever got. "That was probably one of the best hugs I ever got."

"What's your preferred distraction?"

"Um, I don't know, I didn't actually plan this out, I just sorta..." He gestures vaguely.

"Well, we can just walk," she suggests.

"Yeah, walking's good," especially with someone not involved in the whole thing, "especially with someone not connected to it all."

"Did you want to talk about it, or...?"

It would be good, wouldn't it? Getting an outside perspective on it. Not the classified parts, of course, but just being able to tell someone else. On the other hand, it is kinda secret. Except he doesn't really even have a personal life to speak of, does he? His friends at Arcadia would all be targeted anyway if anyone wanted to get back on a Ward, and it's not like he's particularly close to any specific one of them, if he had to name a closest friend other than Lorica it would be Echo or Rewind.

He spends a couple of seconds chewing on his lip as he ponders this, then says, "I shouldn't, it's—kind of a secret, and..." But my, he does sound like he wants to be convinced to tell, doesn't he?

"I mean, I understand, of course, but I can keep secrets."

Of course Chelsea can keep secrets, who could ever doubt that? "Of course you can keep secrets, I don't—I mean—it's..."

He's really running out of excuses.

"I might make a better shoulder to cry on if I knew," she murmurs.

He sighs.

"I'd like to go somewhere more—private. Feels a bit too exposed, out in the open, here."

"I noticed a good spot a couple blocks that way."

"Okay. Lead the way?"

So she does. The spot is an empty building with a side door standing open.

In they go!

He looks around. He closes the door. And he leans back, expecting really hard that he'll actually land on a comfortable chair and not on the floor. It would be an exceedingly bad time for his power to not work, so of course it'll work.

It does.

Chelsea is surprised. "Oh my!"

He gestures at the chair that is now behind Chelsea. "I'm Glam," he confesses. He doesn't sound thrilled by this fact.

"Oh goodness, that's amazing," she says. "But why is that upsetting you?"

"...have you seen the news about the Skinners?"

"Oh yes. And they say it's statistically unlikely that anyone in particular will be hurt and they're going after apartments, not hotels, but..."

"Yeah. And I visited each of the scenes and it was kinda terrible and this morning I saw a four-year-old hanging from the ceiling fan and then in the afternoon got chewed out by Director Piggot for spending too much time socializing and not going to the therapist and because my power's been wacky lately but I'm pretty sure it's some trump power the Skinners have and I kinda needed someone who isn't a cape or in the PRT to talk to. I kinda—need to forget. That this all exists. I need the weird serial killers to be a sensationalistic blurb on the news, not my daily life." At some point he hid his face in his hands, and a sniffle might betray what they're hiding. He conjures a can to kick away in frustration.

"Oh you poor thing." She sits on the arm of his chair and wraps him in her arms and hugs him again.

The chair is suddenly much larger, and he leans into the hug. "And it's pointless to tell my friends, or my girlfriend, they're heroes too, they know about it, they're as bitter and frustrated and angry as I am, and it doesn't help that I keep thinking about how it could happen to them, too, has happened, we're still short on capes because of stupid Behemoth's little act of childish spite."

Snuggle snuggle pet pet.