There's so much tearing him apart right now. Some things he can't even look at yet but he feels them there, adding weight, crushing him.

"Do you know how many people have come around to make sure I'm eating, that I'm getting up out of bed, that I know they're there for whatever i need?" Lark shakes his head in quiet, awed gratitude.

"My life was easier before I let myself have people. I could make solid, quick decisions to get what I wanted, and I never had to regret it. But now that I have a choice, to distance myself or not, I'm choosing to keep them. I like having friends. I like having a pack I trust and love. I'm going to maintain all of these relationships the best I can." A flicker of something profoundly pained crosses his expression. "And if I have to kill them--to kill you--someday to save the fucking ship, I'll still do it. And I'll just have to live with tasting your blood in my mouth no matter how I scrub at my teeth later."