[That's the question of the hour. Harlan isn't sure what to make of what he got out of it. He's quiet again, collecting his thoughts into some sort of coherent explanation.]

I don't... It was just feelings. They were all over the place.

[He shrugs, but his body feels too heavy. His arm slides off of Michael's shoulder, so he knots his fingers in the hem of Michael's shirt instead.]

Didn't make sense. Sorta like... What the gods do. Events. Mm.

[His eyes close again. It feels better. Dying isn't so bad, really. He doesn't hurt all that much anymore, though that could be because he doesn't feel much. He can't quite tell if he can feel his legs or not. Whenever he tries to think about it, his focus drifts and he comes up empty. He's not sure what kind of feeling he's looking for, anyway. He can't remember how it's supposed to feel. All he remembers is being tired. And cold. He hates that his death experience is so cliche, but he is cold. Fuck this planet.]

I hope it's warmer when I get back.

[And then he remembers something that isn't being cold and tired, and he laughs.]

You don't have to... Blanket compromise.