[It's a comment that would be easy to respond to with something sarcastic or petty, and the impulse was there. To say that he'd be happy without her interference, her care, her observation, that he wanted no part of it. To leave him alone, to his satisfactory solitude.

He's silent instead for a time, eyes finally opening again to stare across at her.]

...Nothing. Nothing will, you know that as well as I.

[There's a hesitation in his breath; any of this felt like a risk to admit to, to acknowledge.]

I've never known the feeling. You can't invoke something that doesn't exist. Any attempt merely frustrates the both of us, as you can see.