"I tolerated stuff." He just looked stupid with his hair this short, was that his fault? He also felt that if Sam didn't realise how much he tolerated, he should really ask someone else what they thought of his habit of tossing his socks bloody everywhere. "I don't always think about it," he finally ventured.

He shrugged. "The world goes the way I want it to. Always has." It came like breathing. How could he know where to draw the lines when he couldn't even see the lines?

"I've gotten better though, haven't I?" He smiled suddenly, wanting to make this less depressing. "I didn't do it at all now. The whole time we've talked."