I don't know. [He presses his palms to his eyes for a long moment, partially in frustration, partially to will away (admittedly also frustrated) tears he didn't want Lydia to see just now. When he lowers his hands again, he leans forward on his knees.]
I don't know if I can. [Which physically hurt him to even admit. But it was just the truth. Nothing in his meeting with Stiles made him feel like he even cared, like he was any ounce of the boy he grew up with and once considered a brother. And if Stiles doesn't care, why should he? (He will, because its what he does). Maybe he doesn't. (He does).]