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“You’re the only one that makes me not afraid,” he stumbles over the words and buries his head in his arms.

How messed up is it that the man whose arm I just broke is hiding with me in an abandoned bedroom. He doesn’t even notice the break in his panic-induced crying jag.

I can’t just leave him like this. Fuck, I hate myself sometimes.

I don’t say anything as I crawl over to him, screw walking. I sit a little distance away, propping myself up against the wall with about a foot of space between us, and mimic his knees-to-chin, arms-crossed posture.

The spark takes care of his arm and the gash on his calf that’s becoming infected. In all the drama, I didn’t even notice that he was hurt before getting here.

He keeps saying he’s sorry over and over. Nothing’s really his fault, though. He got pulled into this miasma of bullshit just like each one of us did. We just have to deal with it.

“What happened there?” I ask in a tired voice to get him to stop saying that. I don’t really care. I just want him to snap out of it. Totally hypocritical of me. I haven’t snapped out of it yet.

“Huh?” He lifts his head, and I take my first honest look at Mike. He’s average in every way. Not a jock, a nerd. A general person with brown hair and plain blue eyes. It’s a relief after all of the Others that have been around me.

I didn’t realize I missed my life with the Old Man and regular people whose biggest concern is deciding what to have for dinner or if their alarm is set for the right time.

“I-” he hiccups, and his watery eyes meet mine. “I tried to go over a fence and got stuck. I thought I was being cool or something.”

“I do that stuff,” I commiserate and lean my head back to stare at the blank wall across from us. “I cut my hair off with a knife once.”

“Seriously?” He rubs his arm under his nose and blinks at the healed bone in surprise.

“Yeah. Zero of five stars. Do not recommend.”

He chuckles a little and eyes me for a second. “I bet it was cool.”

My lips curl in a tiny, unwilling smile. “Yeah, but I still have bald patches.”

He chokes on a laugh and seems shocked about it.

We settle into silence for a bit.

“Were you happy? With Wullf, I mean.”

“The Old Man was an ass, but he stuck with me. He had my back,” my voice wobbles at the end, but I remain firm on the no more crying stance.

“That’s it?” He sounds surprised. “No affection?”

“He was always yelling at me, being a drill instructor. But he never hurt me. He trained me to not be afraid all the time. To hide. He gave me food when I washungry and blankets when I was cold. A place to sleep. What more could I ask for?”

“A hug?”

“No,” I scoff. “I’ll hold your hand, but no hugging.”

“You hate it that much?”

I look him straight in the eyes. “It’s not bad when Ben does it. He’s comforting. To justme, apparently. He’s… my person, you know? I guess I just don’t like anyone else very much.”

“Connection,” he nods to himself like he’s assembling a puzzle.

“What?”

“Menders fail when they don’t have connections,” he tells me earnestly.

“How would you know?” My eyes narrow on him, but I don’t have the energy to get into a physical fight. I could just sit here and let him kill me. Laziest death ever.

“Others and Reforming Bonds.”