"Probably not," he agrees softly. "I was pretty sure I was able to see things in other cities. Other countries. Since my early twenties, when I'd see things happen and then hear about them on the news. Live them out and not be able to do a damn thing." He had felt helpless and he wanted to visions to stop. If he couldn't help, he didn't want to know about it at all.

"When I was twenty six, I killed someone. She saw a painting I did of a woman being hit by a bus and- it was her. She freaked out and ran outside and-"

He had chased her, just in time to see the bus smash her body through the air, the road tearing up her skin as her body landed.

"I'm one of the forty three. So I came here to find out more about what I can do, what others can do, how to control it. Just, anything at all. Hell, maybe I'm even just looking for people who get it." He took the photos back, looking at the one of the White Violin. "I don't know what 'did happen' means aside from time travelling shenanigans and I'm not ready to try and understand that right now because I'm still trying to stay sober."