[His eyes, typically so full of that trademark, saucy spitfire, reveal an inkling of what he doesn't say. Eve was lucky, in a way, to encountered an iteration of Rex who was so raw and vulnerable, with not yet enough time or mental fortitude to reflect on the great degree of tragedy he'd experienced. His bitterness only hardened him further, because the more time he spent with her stupid, forgettable normie friends, the more jealous he felt. They all had so many damn choices. College was an option for them! They could be accountants, doctors, musicians... And their dinky part-time gigs at Baskin Robbins or the local grocery mart didn't come with the risk of dying.]

It already feels like that? Sometimes.

[He immediately regrets saying that out loud.]

Y'know, it gets pretty funky up there. In my head, I mean. I know it sounds impossible, but...

I've made excuses for a lot of really bad people. I loved them, because of what they meant to me? But it was all a lie.

[Radcliffe. His mother and father.]

Until Eve and I were a thing, I didn't know what it was like for anybody to, um, want me? For real? And then I felt that, and... I just wanted more.

[Should he tell Mark how angry it had made him, to hear her go on and on about him? How days before the funeral for the original Guardians, Rex had angrily sat up in his own bed, imagining what it would be like to see her beautiful green eyes welling up with tears as she laid her head on another man's shoulder?

Rex doesn't handle death well. Not of superheroes, and definitely not the big guys. If they could go down, then so can he, and that's something he's known for years now. To have it confirmed so blatantly...

He simply doesn't want to think about it.]

So... In response to the first thing? Yeah.

It's the second question that I'm not so sure about.