[Luke doesn't fight. All the fight in him is gone for the moment. At once he is seven-- well, maybe eight, still a child either way-- and he is crying over something minor, something he can't change, like a scraped knee. If only things were that simple. He sits there as Guy fluffs up the jacket and helps him into it. He's too busy trying to will his tears back into his eyes, but that's not how it works.

He's been strong until this moment-- so strong, in fact, that he'd forgotten he could cry. And now that it's started, he doesn't want a part of it. It makes him feel stupid and probably look stupid too. He wants to greet his friends with the smile he couldn't really pull off when he knew he was dying, but now he's going to look puffy and childish. He doesn't want them to worry anymore.]

Sorry. [He sniffles, already ruining the sleeve he now possesses with tears.] I just keep saying that. But you're right... I'm okay. I'm okay, so...

[... He feels so dumb. He opens his mouth to say something else and ends up making a funny noise, which of course makes him laugh out of embarrassment. His face is so red right now, it's ridiculous.]

I don't know why you're not mad at me. I mean, even I get mad at me. I'm pretty dumb sometimes.