"I can understand that." Glibt murmured in a low, even voice and there was a tiny part of him, buried deep under his core, that wanted to say that at least Paul'd had warning. Harvey hadn't even woken him up before going into work, but Glibt paid that minuscule jolt of jealousy no mind and let his voice grow softer, the voice he would use to soothe an activist who had lost faith after a defeat, the voice he would use to comfort a teenage victim of gay-bashing, a diluted version of the mental voice that whispered soothing phrases through Matthew's mind repeatedly over the span of five days. "But he'll be back, Paul. I can't tell you when, but I know he'll come back."
He had to come back; maybe Glibt was trying to convince himself of that certainty even as he tried to convince Paul. But he didn't let himself sigh, no, he sounded as sure of Harvey's return as he possibly could as he picked a piece of imaginary lint off one of his cuffs and spoke again, tentatively. "If you want to talk about it, I can see if there's anything I could do to help."
Gazing at Paul with a mixture of contemplation and concern, Glibt wasn't quite sure exactly what he could do, other than listen to the young mortal, other than talk to him, other than, perhaps, try to get him to eat something. "Why don't I make us a light, simple dinner and we can talk while we eat?" This was Glibt's responsibility, yes, in a variety of ways - he'd caused the pain that Paul, a member of his population, was feeling - but there was more to it than that, more to it than even wanting Paul to feel better for Harvey's sake. Glibt truly cared about the young man and he let that into his eyes as he smiled and nodded toward the door. "Humour me, yeah?"