" ... okay, then," Dylan answers, eyebrows so high up on his forehead they may as well be the start of his hairline. He's seen some shit, in his time, he'd be lying if he said he hadn't (hell, he is the weird shit, sometimes, for all that his body turns itself inside out three nights out of every month), but Jesus. That takes the cake.

"Jesus," he breathes after a beat, shaking his head, at a loss beyond that. "Sorry I asked."