Because you want it so badly, and I keep going along with it like I want it and then getting cold feet-- [He swats at him, sitting up on his own but staying curled inward, sitting on his knees with his hands balled into fists in the sheets and his head ducked forward so his hair falls around his face.]

[He stays that way a while, shoulders heaving with the labored way he breathes-- in, out, in, out, like he has to consciously expand and contract his lungs. It's possible he does. ] I'm-- dead, effectively, what does it matter what I want or don't, anyway? If I could just. Be a little more like you, give as much of myself to the people around me like you do--