As the other man nears, it feels like everything gets louder—his approaching footsteps, the distant roar of water, William's own breathing. It's the radios, he realizes moments later. A hush has fallen over them. William lowers his hands, steps outside the loose ring of devices he's assembled. It looks insane, now that someone else is here to see it.

“That one just says 'I love you' over and over,” he says, by way of...explanation? Excuse? Either way, the radio he points out—a lunchbox-sized affair with only a few streaks of green paint left—doesn't oblige. “I didn't mean to eavesdrop.” Though of course he did, just not on Will in particular. “I was...it's not important.”

He looks down at his hand—dirty, more callused than he remembers—and wipes it on his pant leg before offering it. “Anyway. I'm William.” One of the radios rouses itself, begins to play softly.