Paul blinks at that question... and then he starts laughing. It's not really a happy noise, but it's something.

"Shoot me and put me out of my misery? Or take me somewhere secluded and re-enact scenes from my favorite porno? ....Jesus. No, I'm fine. Just... processing." He stares down at the coffee in his hands-- it's really too hot to be drinking it, but Wyatt brought it. He takes a sip.

Any of them can go, anytime. There's people here he doesn't give a shit about; there's others like Alexis where he's just as glad they're no longer here, for their sake, but all the same...

And there's a few he gives a serious fuck about. Like the man sitting next to him on the bench.

Paul tosses his cigarette to the pavement and grinds it under his toe like an offensive insect. His now-free hand drifts over to Wyatt's, brushes the other man's fingers in passing before settling on the bench.

"Thanks for the coffee."