When Wyatt gets the reply, he's pretty certain Paul will come over whether he wants him to or not. It's a moot point trying to pretend he doesn't want him here when every damn braincell's yelling at him to go and find him, make sure he's okay and still here and not dead.

But Wyatt stays put. He tells himself this is just another case of Taxon taxoning right on, regardless of such a silly concept as human emotion. You never know when your number's up. You never know, and you just have to get used to it. But this? This hits closer to home than Josef, than Scott and Raziel, closer even than Buffy. So many gone in such a short space of time, and for one horrifying moment he can't breathe for the pressure building up around him. He'll get crushed, he'll break to pieces and there's no doctor in town to patch him up. He'll explode, painting the kitchen red and pink and purple--

Half an hour later, he's lost last night's dinner to Taxon's very own sewer system, and he doesn't think he's ever getting his appetite back.

That Paul doesn't just open the door and sashay on in tells him one or two things: he's giving him space (almost a definite), and he's probably brought something (less of a definite). He opens the door with an attempt at a smile that falls flat the moment their eyes meet.

"Hey. Come in."