He'd been toeing a rock on the ground while she flipped through his sketchbook, trying to find anything to occupy himself with, so her hand atop his on the rope of the swing nearly startled him. He couldn't look at her; unsure he was ready to see the concern in her eyes as she asked him if he was alright. "I haven't been alright in a long time." He found himself admitting quietly; scarily easily. Alvin had a hard time admitting this to himself and had never dared to breathe the thoughts aloud. His parents, his brothers, his mother especially, they had too much on their plates to worry about him too. Rufus had a family, young children, a completely different life. Wally's life had been irrevocably changed and with the loss of Sloane, he and Harry had been the only ones who had managed to keep busy, to stay out of everyone's way and just exist. It was exhausting, but he had to, what choice did he have? As the second oldest, everyone else was his responsibility, especially with Rufus having his own to tend to.

It had all started long before this, with his own career-ending injury that had sent him into a dangerous tailspin. He grown more and more reclusive, the melancholy so oppressive some days he hardly left his room. Every time he thought he'd clawed his way out of the hole, it got deeper or wider and more steep. Sloane's return was not something to be upset about obviously, but he was still mourning her, just a little bit. Because the woman inside looked like his sister, but she did not have the same spark and she spoke too neatly and she sat up too straight and she wouldn't fly on a broom or go to the park. He was still trying to wrap his head around it all.

Still, he couldn't look at Sisse now, instead running his free hand through his hair, looking down at his shoes. Even if she understood the situation with Sloane, there was so much that she didn't know that he knew he couldn't explain well enough to make it fit this mood. His shoulders slumped, defeated as he finally chanced a glance at her.