[ Alan's trying to figure out just how to assure her he's here. He's here. He's real. He's not in a room somewhere endlessly typing away trying to find the right ending. He was trying to find a way home, and wound up here, but maybe that's what he's not seeing. Maybe he can find a way home from here. This isn't one of his stories. At least, it feels like it's different from his previous drafts. Is that enough to hang his hopes on? Maybe not. But maybe he already has begun hanging his hopes on that.

When she leans forward, so does he. They're closer together now, foreheads almost touching but not quite. He purposefully left a little distance between them. He'll get rid of that distance soon, but not yet.

That look in her eyes hasn't escaped him. He knows what it means. He knows what most of her looks mean. ]

I'm not still there. I don't know how. It was like a path opened, I followed it, and it led me here. That room should be empty now. [ There should be nothing for the owl to look at. No one to follow around the room. Maybe the owl's gone back to just being an owl. ]

I'm here, Jesse. I'm really here. [ And only then does he move the rest of the way to rest his forehead against hers. ]