Oswald brought the wine to his lips, watching as the person across from him tried to form the words of their order. There was a patience on his face, almost as if he couldn’t hear how it took them minutes to say a simple word.

“Steak frites?” the waiter tried to be helpful. He shot them a dirty look, instantly reprimanding them.

“Hey. Don’t do that. They were speakin’. Let ‘em finish,” he said sharply, gesturing to the person across the table. The waiter awkwardly apologized, and they both looked back to the other.

Oswald gave a wave of his hand, encouraging them to try again. His attention remained on them the entire time. He wouldn’t let other people talk over them like that.