She looked at her friends, shocked. “Of course I will die for you. But that’s not saying much. In fact, I can list a whole lot o’ people I would die for, anyone really. Who wouldn’t? Humans are enamored for self-sacrifice. Courage and valor and such and such. And in all honestly, dying is nothing new or important to me. It’s sneaking down the stairs at three a.m., keeping quiet so ma doesn’t wake up and tell you to go back to bed. And as you tip toe down, you miss a step and there’s a jolt through your body that quickly ends once you reclaim your footing. I think death is like that, and once you die, you just keep walking to the fridge to get that snack. You know you’re going back, but in a bit, this really is quite delicious. The afterlife is munching away, savoring each bite, but also wondering what would happen if you just stayed in bed and waited to eat in the mornin’. See? Nothing scary. There’s a lot more I would do for you than die, things that I’m frighten of, things I flee at the thought of. But if you really want to ask me to do something, you would ask me to live. To live for you. That seems like a mighty fine request. But no matter how much I love you, I can’t, I shan’t, I wouldn’t, I won’t. I’m sorry, but I already put in a reservation a while ago. I’m the only person I would live for. So, you might think I don’t care about you at all, and if that’s the case, there’s not much I can do. 

It’s nice being showed you’re cared for, but you surely don’t need it. You just know when someone does. I won’t tell you I love you, I just expect you to know it. Pardon me, but I have an unhealthy habit of assuming others notice the details as keenly as I. If you don’t pay attention to the actions that clearly demonstrate my emotions, I would never condemn you for so. But I also won’t say anything to dispute your fears of my indifference. Saying what I feel and showing it are quite different indeed. You’ll notice I rarely weigh in words, and you’ll notice the blatant irony in such.”