For awhile, he doesn't answer, mostly because he doesn't know how to. There's a hundred answers to that question and he isn't sure which is more accurate. Maybe they all are, in their own ways. He turns onto his side and curls into Hartley, hiding his face against his shoulder and not doing much more than just...lay there, taking him in, appreciating the soft thud of his heart in his ear, the warmth of his boyfriend next to him. And as much of a comfort as it all is, he almost feels so goddamn guilty for it all. Because these are the things Paco and Hart have been entirely without for however long it's been, in addition to the assumptions of being dead which is just salt in an already painful wound. How is that fair?

"I just can't stop thinking about it." he finally answers, head still resting against Hartley's shoulder. "How long has he even been there? And how terrified he must be, helpless, hopeless of every getting away or being rescued while he was thought to be dead. And it's scary to think how easily they could be us, with the right strings pulled." He shakes his head a little, "I don't know what I would do if anything ever happened to you."

He's not even entirely sure how Paco is holding himself together. Maybe he's not, but he's quieter about those sorts of things, locked it away for himself...or used it and turned it into something else entirely.