...he said five, didn't he. Goddamnit. Stopped at five. Read four. He knew--he knows that--and it's too fucking late to salvage, god damn it he has to stop overthinking.
"Never. One, it's not--"
Pause.
There's actual seconds of silence.
Which Dave? The one he never knew, that he grew up knowing but never actually knew? The one he raised, trained, honed into the Knight he was meant to be? The one he only met as a teenager, full of hate and bitterness about his own, other, same self, the who didn't even want to fucking know him? The one he elevated, the one he left behind, the one he knows will come for him, the one he trusts to--
"Fuck. No. How could I? But I guess it depends on who you're asking."
This is prose now,
"Never. One, it's not--"
Pause.
There's actual seconds of silence.
Which Dave? The one he never knew, that he grew up knowing but never actually knew? The one he raised, trained, honed into the Knight he was meant to be? The one he only met as a teenager, full of hate and bitterness about his own, other, same self, the who didn't even want to fucking know him? The one he elevated, the one he left behind, the one he knows will come for him, the one he trusts to--
"Fuck. No. How could I? But I guess it depends on who you're asking."