It was a difficult question and he spent some time just looking at Barty before he turned away, not sure what to do or say. He came over to the bench Barty had been on and sat down, running his fingers through his hair. "I don't know." What was he supposed to say? What answer should he have? "I liked you from the start, I really did. I think I did. I don't think you put that there, I think I like it. The spark, the rebellion, the playfulness and disorder. You weren't like me. Sometimes I need it."

And he liked that a lot at first. That Barty made him late, played around with how he dressed, made him break routines and live differently. He made him like that he was special, that he had powers no one else did.

But then, it wasn't that simple. Nothing was. "But you are you. You can't always control it, sometimes you can but not always. And you make me do things. You hurt me in ways I can't even begin to describe. You took my career from me. My freedom. My power..." He sighed and put his head forward, putting it into his hands. "I'm--"

He cut himself off, wanting to edit it away but he knew it would do no good unless he properly communicated with Barty. So he looked at him, hurt and tired. "I'm scared of you, Barty."