Jean-Paul wasn't really looking at anyone; he never wanted anyone looking at him, and the best way to avoid that right now was to keep his eyes never really lingering on anybody. Which was really the worst thing about living through a scandal and nightmare: he couldn't play eye contact games with anyone anymore.

Still, the man walking through the park caught the corner of Jean-Paul's eye. There was something familiar about him. The set of his shoulders. The gait. It trigged a memory, and Jean-Paul lifted his face to at least glance at the other man's.

It was familiar.

It was Alex.

Jean-Paul didn't know whether to hide or to rush to his side. He settled for a quiet cough, and for lifting his hand in a wave - a still, not-quite-committal one. So Alex could ignore it if he so chose, and they could both keep their dignity.