It was just like John. It was just like them both-- so wildly different in how they processed their pain. Harlow could handle gore, hardly even flinched at some of the most terrible sights they'd been privy to in their time. But he had dreaded the sight of John's corpse more than anything in his life, had been so horribly afraid to see it that he ran away from the scene. John, meanwhile, had dragged himself through the wreckage searching for Harlow's body. Of course they had done the exact opposite. They almost always did.
Still, John's words drowned Harlow in guilt in pain. He should have looked harder. He shouldn't have set the fire. He shouldn't have been such a coward, so weak, so pathetic for his fears. He knew he had betrayed John, however unknowingly, and if he hadn't lost him completely then he'd lost years of time with him. Harlow doubted that the trust he had broken could be repaired.
After a moment, Harlow dared to lift his hand, wrapping it around John's on the bar. It was a touch that only lasted a moment-- Harlow squeezed and then dropped his hand, afraid to leave it there and let John pull away first.
"Well then we were both pretty much fucked, weren't we?" Harlow murmured, stepping back from the bars. He dug into his pocket, pulling out an extra iPhone he'd grabbed in the city-- he always collected backups, considering his tendency to shatter his screen on a near-weekly basis. He held it out to John through the bars, already set up and ready for him to use. "Here. It has my number in it, and the connection to the network here-- it's like internet, kind of. Less porn."