[ Nate likes Stephen. If push came to shove, he'd probably take a bullet for him despite the myriad blank spaces in the mental chronology of his life, because sometimes you don't need to know everything about a person to give a shit. He doesn't have to know everything now, and getting hinky about being left out of some private joke doesn't serve anything but nascent resentment.

So he lets it go. ]

Always am.

[ More pleasantly lubricated with spirits his smile widens, and Nate rests his chin in the palm of one hand, elbow balanced on the table. ]

I ever tell you about the time I fell out of a plane? [ He stops, thinks, corrects himself as another glass is delivered. ] ...the second time. Not the first time.