Much looked down at the can of drink in his hand, his expression pained at this utterly undeserved act of kindness, and wanted to cry again. He looked over at the girl and he knew she was immortal and the word ‘young’ might not, or could not apply, but… she looked so young, so innocent, and he thought about someone (him) putting their hand over her mouth and he didn’t just want to cry, then, he wanted to sink through the floor of this train and lay himself out on the tracks. Gathering what strength he could, he offered the can back to her. “It’s… it’s too kind,” he said, his voice croaky, but trying to be soft. “You should keep it. Or… or save it for somebody else.”