It's better not to. It's better not to care about people. They're dangerous. They make you inefficient. They'll try to turn you to their own.
"The Commander of the Guard." He's not just a Guard. He's not just a subordinate trusted with a sensitive experiment. He's not just the one who stares at pages and pages and pages and turns them into schedules that keep the city patrolled and safe. He's all of these, and more, and there is always more to do. The schedule shows him as putting in almost half the time he really does. He eats in small moments between tasks. He sleeps only as much as necessary. Before Val the only breaks he took were short, and he'd meant for it to be short with Val, too.
A friend is just a security risk. Just a potential hazard, a unnecessary variable. One more thing that needs his time.
"I shouldn't have let you fuck me. Baron Praxis was right, paying attention to anything but my work and the city is a weakness. My slipping up could cost lives. Slowing down could be the difference between victory and defeat--someone close enough to talk to can learn secrets and destroy everything--questioning orders causes chaos and chaos brings down armies--" These aren't his words. They spill out of him in a panic of shame and guilt and terror. He's shaking again. Another sign of weakness. Another symptom to prune away so the city doesn't fall.