"If you weren't having a hard time right now, you'd be getting punched."

Look at her, showing mercy. There were many ways to be connected to objects back home in her world, ways that Darcy knew nothing about, it was just that death had a way of clarifying the connections. A regular car became tied intimately to the person who drove it, a mass-produced coffee cup became the last thing someone touched. A song known by millions became a private joke, one where only one person knew the punchline anymore.

Darcy knew she should definitely be encouraging him to accept the comfort, to actually deal with what he's going through. It was the advice of no small amount of shrinks regardless of whether she was in for her own death or her mother's injury. But she'd gone back to training only a day or two after she'd drowned, was back at school by the end of the week. She couldn't exactly talk. Darcy huffed, rested her cheek back down on his chest. It was uncomfortable as shit to be laying on literally a pile of bones, but she didn't want to move, either. As long as she was here, he was safe. Enough, anyway.

"Alright. Just not la vie en fucking rose again. Literally any other old people music other than that. I hate that fucking song."