"I like you. It's actually terrifying how much I like you," he says dreamily. "At least you're a Miles. I have some hope of figuring you out well enough to avoid absolutely fucking everything up."
"You're such a cheerful, carefree soul," Stalas says dryly. "I like you too."
Mark beams. "You like making me happy," he announces, like this is just about the best fact he has ever learned.
"Conversation I had with Miles once. I told him trust was like air to him, and I'd lived my life in a vacuum by comparison."
"Wow. I can see why you depress him so much. I want to - I don't know what I want to do. Teach you to breathe, maybe."
"...I'm still adjusting to the idea that I'm not going to die horribly, alone in the dark, without ever seeing another friendly face," says Stalas. "So I want you know I'm speaking with empathy when I say you need to raise your standards."
"I like you. I like the faces you make when I give you neck rubs. I care about the horrible shit you've apparently gone through. Those are all fairly basic things! I mean, I'm not going to forbid you from appreciating me - just - this is not the best it can possibly get."
"It's the best it has gotten. It's pretty close to the best I can imagine," says Mark, closing his eyes. "Disregarding any thoughts I may or may not have had about you and daggers."
The neck rubs definitely show no sign of stopping.
"I'm like... two, three years older than you are," says Mark. "Dwarf boy. What if I want infinite neck rubs?"