I like to think of them as OUR arrows

No. He didn't want to bomb this friendship.

Were they speaking of Laura still?

Turn around and say good morning to the night. Had he ever known one from another?

They know not if it's dark outside or light.

This Broadway's God, it's got a lot of songs to say. That was the problem, wasn't it? He'd gone his way so long, sewn so many seeds on his own for a garden of many.

'Don't fuck this up, Matt.'

Stick, warning him against Kate? His father, towards her?

Matt stepped forward. He held her cheek like she was precious. Not delicate, but precious. A moment in time, to gloriously share before she went on to be hardened by time and pressure into something greater. Into something other. He held her like she was nothing but his best friend. Kate.

She was night and day. That in between that held the promise of everlasting glory and grief. His heart hammered.

Elektra. Who stepped up and took what she wanted. Was he learning from his lost love, with what to do with the next?

She was a story he might share.

Kate's heart was true.

He saw her as promise. Grandpa Nelson and Mills.

Was he a good man? Maybe not. But he did thank the lord for her. Maybe it mattered more to happen on her home turf, where she was empowered. Where she had people who loved her purely, rather than the devil who nipped at heels.

Very gently, very slowly, Matt held her chin. He leaned in and kissed her. Softly. Slowly. Was it a mistake? Maybe.

I grew my own, my own seeds shall be shown in New York City.