[He can't help it. When Mickey fidgets and moves as though compelled not to stay in the same place, Cassel smiles at him, real and warm and open the way he hardly ever does. His world isn't a perfect place, not by far, but right now it seems exactly like it should. Every kind gesture, every tiny effort, he still drinks them up like a man dying of thirst, and Mickey's just given him enough to stay alive for another few days.]
[He wants to say thank you, but he doesn't. Just beams instead, cocking his head to one side.]
spam
[He wants to say thank you, but he doesn't. Just beams instead, cocking his head to one side.]
Yeah. You're my friend. That's why I'm sorry.