( He's laughing. Or choking. Or sobbing. The sound is somehow mangled, torn between his teeth. Hastily, he returns his mask to his face, binds it negligently behind his back. With it on, he seems more at ease, stabler. )

Then it makes me go away. And no one is hurting me again.

( He is the sickness. The cause. The end. The hated. He knows that much. He's suffered the pains of it. )

I had a friend. And he isn't you. And even he kept secrets. So I'm not... I'll keep them raised until the end of the month. It will be hard. So you're not... so you should thank me. Because it will really be hard, and... and, go away. You should go away now. ( Murmured again: ) No one's my friend.