Ah. Sinclair sees it all clearly now. And he’s not going to laugh. He’s really not. He’ll laugh later when he informs Ethan of his new nationality. “Ah, no. It’s a—what, like a turn of phrase? They’re making fun of me. Basically it’s a joke that means maybe I’m lying about having a boyfriend at all because no one ever sees him. He might as well be in a foreign country. And, uh.” He looks at Wolfgang (or rather, the top of Wolfgang’s head), then back down to his hands again. “He’s—my boyfriend, he’s good. He’s doing really well, yeah, thanks for asking. Um, our anniversary is coming up and I have no idea what we’re gonna do, heh...”
It feels weird to talk about Ethan with another person. No one ever genuinely asks about him, how he’s doing. It’s true that Sinclair wriggles out of most boyfriend-related questions like an oiled snake so the whole District probably knows better than to try by now, but it still feels cold sometimes. Everyone would love Ethan if they knew him.