[ Ben listens to Genji, face grave, eyes intent. He nods solemnly when Genji talks about not knowing things could be better until he was elsewhere. He does again, when Genji talks about backsliding, interjecting with a quick, quiet: ]

I still do that some days.

[ He's tried to internalize the good things that have happened in the Anchor, and everything he'd seen of Earth as a ghost outside of his father's mansion. Most days, he can, but there are bad days, too. Days when he hates himself for acting like he was hard-done-by, for feeling sorry for himself when he's a disgusting monster that shouldn't exist. There are still mornings he wakes up hating himself so much it's hard to move - moments, every now and then, when he misses his father.

Then, because it's true and he's not sure Genji has heard it, or heard it enough. ]

Your machinery doesn't make you any less of a person. Not even a fraction of a fraction of a percent. And anyway you were always a person even when your mindset was telling you otherwise. You were always a person and you always had worth, and nothing you could possibly tell me would convince me otherwise.

[ When Genji says such nice things about him, Ben feels his face growing hot, and he drops his gaze, flattered and shy and guilty, as well. Because he's not sure he deserves that praise. Which is clear when he corrects: ]

You're kind, too, you know, Genji. You gave me back those comics and you didn't ask me questions I didn't want to answer or run away from me. And- you're wrong about me. I can be very, very damp some days. Just because you haven't seen me like that doesn't mean it doesn't happen. A lot of my spirit is still recovering, slowly. I don't think it'll ever be completely healed. But I am trying.