"You don't have to do that..."
He shifts his bag a little higher up on his shoulder and walks back over to the bench, sitting down
"I don't need your help. Or your pity."
He glares at Baku. There's a steel in his eyes and an edge to his voice that Baku never noticed before. Underneath the carefree demeanor...lies someone who has been through hell and back and lived to tell the tale.