Cameron's never had to worry about going unnoticed or forgotten. Tyler may be more popular, but hardly enough so to overshadow Cameron; at 6'5" and with all the things he has to his name, he's not easily missed. In a world of the brilliant, the beautiful, the wealthy, those whom fortune has favored, he has nevertheless managed to make himself exemplary time and again, to be one of the two everyone sees. Here on the island, though, he finds himself fading into the milling crowd, and it's in some part his own fault, the fault of this lingering cloud of doubt and hurt left by the circumstances of his arrival and his life in the months before this place, that dual defeat like the final twist of the knife. He could try harder. He could do better. He's usually so good at that, and there's a bit of shame in allowing himself to retreat like this, giving himself the luxury to lick his wounds in peace.

He hasn't been here long enough to form attachments or feel too grieved by their absence, but it's nice, even comforting when he didn't think himself in need of it, to believe there's one person at his side now. "Not before now," he agrees, wanting her to understand without saying it, that he is grateful for her kindness, for her interest, for the fact that she has no blessed idea about his connection to Facebook or the rest of it (even support on that front isn't something he wants now. He has no need of vindication, he knows himself to be in the right. What he needs is some small respite from both that and the ensuing restlessness). "It's a chilling idea. No one else noticing." Maybe she wouldn't either. It's just a walk, after all, a chance conversation. She may just be friendly or bored, except she was the first to suggest they could be friends. "If you disappeared at home, they'd put up a hue and cry; here, people just go on."