There's something charming about Mel curled up like a cat on the bed, and Evan has to briefly fight the distraction of the sight. There is, after all, rather a more pressing matter or two at hand. In fact when Mel sketches out his time frame, Evan's stomach sinks a little.

"A month." He looks the man over again, taking note of all of the details that are strangely the same, the absence of the subtle signs of time passing. Mel does look strangely exact, but he'd written that off as the vagaries of memory. His expression shades serious, almost grave.

"Mel," he starts, pulling in a breath, wondering if there's a delicate way to phrase this, and deciding there probably isn't, "I came home from Oska two years ago."