How could someone wishing him such kindness make him feel so utterly distraught? Much looked up at her as she stood, unable to keep any of his emotions off his face, though he did try to muster a smile, a brief one. “’m Much,” he mumbled, his bottom lip quivering as his smile faded. “Thank… thank you,” he dropped his eyes again because it wasn’t enough. Because he should have tried harder not to accept her gifts, because they were too much entirely. Because he didn’t think he could ever drink this Fanta without feeling guilt gutting him with every mouthful so he was going to give it to Alan – or anyone who looked thirsty before he got home. He couldn’t. He couldn’t take it. He should still be lying in that gutter with his own sick and everyone ignoring him, not here, he shouldn’t be here, he shouldn’t be here at all.