"I reckon. I think of it as if these people you get involved with keep expectin' things of you, then you expect things right back. Don't give nothin' for free, 'cause people like it know how to bleed us old folks for everythin'."

Drifter's centuries old and most of his experiences are loss and betrayal. He keeps a wall up, a constant wall, for his own protection and the protection of others (because, in the end, stopping the Darkness or at the very least getting the hell away from it is the most important). An oncoming apocalypse only he knows about, and the preparation for doom always lingering in his head along with those invasive voices.

She curls close and he doesn't expect it to hurt a little. But it does, causes a throbbing deep in his chest.

"I hardly ever find company, Darlin'. But I live kinda rough so... When you got better options? Maybe don't bang the destitute old space hobo." He rubs her shoulder.

It's taking him a moment to interpret what she's saying as anything nearly romantic. His brain's been all bent out of shape, twisted by years of running, by being surrounded by 'Brothers' that made a practice out of hurt. Tragic shadows that taught him a lotta bad things but nothing about like.