The idea of stepping outside of the First Order was lunacy as far as Eight-Seven was concerned. What else could be out there? And even if there was something else, how could you possibly hope to evade the First Order after desertion? Even if he wasn't sure he could blindly and whole-heartedly subscribed to everything he was being faced with, Eight-Seven knew he couldn't leave. He was still too unsure, too convinced that he just needed to truly see combat to make everything clear. Once he was out in the fight, he was sure he wouldn't feel the way he felt now. He shook his head, "To step outside of the First Order would be treason and that's how you get yourself killed," he pointed out. He wasn't ready to die just yet.
He felt a flash of concern for her, that she might struggle with being able to hide such sentiments about the First Order. It was the flaw again, whatever made him want to protect Slip and whatever made Phasma so unhappy. Eight-Seven couldn't help it, though he tried to cover it up. "It's a secret that's safe with me, too," he assured, because if she was willing to talk to him like that, then he figured maybe she was just projecting her own feelings onto him. After all, he thought he did very well to not reveal any uncertainties within his own mind. Or, he hoped he had.
Eight-Seven straightened, shifting to take his helmet in both hands as he caught the implication. "I've never heard that before," he commented. He'd never had a mother, after all. "I'm sure they could. I'd welcome the help in getting to sleep. That's good to know." It was also good to know he didn't seem alone in his thoughts on the First Order - not that he'd voice that.