[ God, that brush of nose at the back of his neck. It's so simple, it's so nothing, but just like every small touch from Mace it pulls forth a bloom of feeling. It transcends itself and becomes something deeper, and maybe being at the cusp of sleep just makes him more susceptible to it. Yeah, he wants this - some part of him does, anyway. Some deep and selfish, irrational part.

He's never been taken care of by anybody but himself. Not since he was old enough to know how to work the stove without burning the house down.

A stuttered laugh shakes through him unexpectedly at the quip, cutting through the tension like a knife. Derailing his thought spiral and bringing him back to the present. There's a gentle pause at the question. ]

No.

[ He murmurs, earnestly. ]

I wish it was anybody else but you.

[ Because you deserve better than this place. He wishes you weren't here to experience it. Fuck, you really are genuinely, really good. What in the hell did you do to deserve this? ]

But... if there were a million cabins like this and you had to be in one of 'em, yeah, I'm glad you're with me.