"Oh." Jeff pulls a thoughtful face, mulling over that. A partial anchoring, a connection to a plane of existence (or... non-existence?) nobody else can see. Maybe something nobody's meant to see.

There's a yearning, suddenly, to connect over that. To ask a hundred questions, to make vague comments about his own experiences with a similar sort of pull and see, maybe, if he can finally just open the fuck up to someone who could maybe understand what it's like to peek into a world he has no business of seeing, or ability to truly fathom and comprehend. Maybe Chris knows that love-hate-fear-longing-revulsion-fascination, too.

Jeff takes a drink. "Right on," he says, expressing nothing but empty, inane words.

"Have you died here?" He furrows his brow, frowning suddenly. "Sorry, uh. Is that way too fucking personal?"

If death doesn't stick, does it even have any weight here? Does it matter?