... Yeah. It's all right. I'm not a thief in this life.

[ No, he's still a thief in this life, more of a literal kind, too. He doesn't know how else to move it along—talk about good things? He smashes a teacup against the wall. The sound... Is so crisp and nice. It's weird.

He finds it comforting. ]

But the other me was happy—he had friends and a guardian that cared for him. I'm a little jealous, sometimes, but I have that, too. Isn't that weird?