"I don't want to talk about this." He didn't get up, although he wanted to leave. Robbie couldn't leave. This was his room, and that would be stupid. "I'll go, okay? But we're not talking about it. I give you that much, don't I?"

Robbie folded his arms to his chest awkwardly, trying to cover some of the scars with his hands. "I don't talk about your mental scars, and it's not because I don't want to help. I do. Anyway I can. I just - I respect your space, but it's not because I don't care."

It was weird to say that aloud. Robbie thought it shouldn't be so hard. He used to tell his friends how much they meant to him all the time, but... there'd been those minutes, when he thought Vance was dead, and he hadn't felt any grief at all. He went pale at the idea that he might not really give a shit. "Cause I do."