[ For a moment, that wry smile tugs at his mouth again. If only he'd had that life she imagines for him. But then, he might not be who he is. And all this might have gone very, very differently. ]

It's not about them. Or me.

It's about the ones who don't know what sleeping on the cold ground is like. Worrying about whether or not you're going to wake up with a knife to your throat or a gun to your head. The ones who don't know what it means living apart from everyone else, not having a place in the world.

[ Dark eyes lock with hers for a moment, intent, before he shrugs again. ]

You could leave a mark on their lives, too. Doesn't have to be one you regret, later on.