Will can still see Rust when they make eye contact. It isn't that Will looks at Rust and sees only walls up, and that's why he can stomach occasional direct gazes with him a little better than with strangers or other acquaintances. It's just that the lack of fencing doesn't feel like Rust is immediately moving into his turf, doesn't feel like a wave of enforced and prayed-for social rules is washing over him and dragging Will back out with the tide.

He doesn't feel like Rust seeks to alter him. Not the way that others accidentally want to alter everyone around them to reflect themselves more, and certainly not the way that Han--

A cold stone sinks to the bottom of his stomach, Will's shoulders hunching further. Not from Rust, but from the nameless horror that apparently has lived inside of Will all along. His mouth is splitting open into a grin, again, teeth showing in the light from the lamp behind Rust. "Of course it was." His eyes on Rust's are angry above his chuckling mouth, laughter cracking out of Will and tearing up his throat.

"It's been all about him for months, and I hadn't seen that." Will is static, he can see each frame of himself stark and alone for minutes before he keeps moving back. His shoulders creak against the back of the plastic chair, tendons in the back of his hands bunching in stark relief. "I'd been in denial that I wasn't ever going to become the killers I keep looking at."

He can't look at Rust. He can't look at anything, gaze dead and empty straight ahead of him. "I might have gotten acquitted of his murders, but I guess I've got a memento forever from the Chesapeake Ripper."