"Thanks," he said, following where she led. The tightly-wound pain in his core began fraying - slowly, slowly, tugged by her laughter. Some of the tension slid from the corners of his eyes. Fred was unexpected. Everything about her: unexpected. She threw him off, made him stop, broke his tracks. And he was grateful, exceedingly grateful, for the staggering lines of thought that traced behind her at every second. Fred. He let out a breath.
"It's an absinthe set," he explained, glancing into the crate he'd brought in with him. "It's all very elaborate, but in the end, not so complicated. I didn't bring ice or water -- might I impose on you for that?" He had recently learned that this world, this time, had machines that kept food cold and created ice all on its own. It was nothing like the struggle his time had over ice.
"All the artists and actors and writers that I knew in Paris loved the stuff. It reminds me of..."
So many things.
"Better times."
They weren't always the best. But the parts that were good... they were very good. He stopped at the bottom of the steps and felt more alone than he had since his arrival.