He doesn't know if he felt it when he first arrived. Can't remember, really, if he ever lived a day in Gloucester without the sense of something twisting and tugging at him. He's pretty sure it's always been there.

Doesn't matter, really. He's been feeding it for so long, so steadily, that it's always there, in some capacity. Loudest and hungriest when he performs, but it's not like it goes away in in those moments where he's not singing or strumming away at his guitar. And it's always so hungry. His little pranks hardly seem to satisfy it anymore.

Jeff doesn't speak up, but he nods, not meeting Malcolm's eyes.