If he'd been able to read Jaime's thoughts, he would have offered the point that he didn't believe in karma up as some kind of comfort; as it was, the only advice he might have had on tap just then was that sometimes life was just a bitch for bitchdom's sake. But this wasn't the lecture-the-friend power hour. Just two people sitting and watching the lady across the street walking a beribboned, fuzzy white puff of something that Trowa suspected might once have been descended from dogs.

"Mm," he offered, purposely avoiding either acknowledging or denying his own emotional status. "I've been around."

A glance in Jaime's direction, thinking of the oddly-named music that had been mentioned in their last conversation; it was both an actual question by someone severely lacking in pop culture references and a general nudge about how he was doing after Abby's disappearance.

"Linkin Park?"