Under normal circumstances, Mastace would've insisted that Briggan go see a doctor about his fainting spell, but he had a feeling that doing so would get him nowhere and he may even cause himself, not to mention everyone else around him, much more unnecessary grief. Instead, he chose to take up a different approach. Let's see if that did anything, he thought. Even though he was very curious to see what Briggan would do with the options that were presented to him, Mastace left to go about his business as usual. He knew that this was a choice only Briggan could make, but he hoped that Briggan would chose to open up- even a little- rather than keep whatever it was that Mastace knew was tormenting the poor wolf inside. He also hoped that what he was doing made even the slightest difference in the course of Briggan's life. Not doing so was- unforgivable. There was no choice for him but to try, and to fight for Briggan because no one else seemed to. They all had given up. He refused to let this be him as well. Everyone said it was too late for him, but they don't understand. It's never too late, he affirmed.
Briggan had no desire to eat and he was incapable of sleeping. He was barely able to function whilst the words that greatly perturbed him before still haunted his being relentlessly.
"... I'll be here..."
"I want to know because I care..."
Damn, who the hell is this guy and what does he want with me? Briggan pondered on this for hours, trying to come up with a reasonable motive that might be driving Mastace to act this way; however, the more he tried to come up with an explanation, the less sense everything made. There was only one way that he could piece it all together and still keep everything relatively logical and within reason. What if... he really means what he says, and he's been entirely genuine this whole god-damned time? That might be able to explain why he's so... disarming.
In the midst of introspection, Briggan came across a startling idea. All this time, I'd been saying that it's too late for me. But... what if... perhaps... He stepped over to the bedside table and looked once again at the photograph and the young lady whose likeness was captured. What if... I was in err when I said so?