Besides, he had friends. Friends weren't just physical people; they were entities, souls, light in the sky, angels on earth, never strictly needing corporeality to exist. They only needed communication to exist, any kind of communication. Phone calls. Smiles. Webcam conversations.

Online chat logs.

Brendan smiled to himself when he logged into the account. They didn't have a guild run tonight, but maybe--yes! One of them was here.

Misha had been living in the shelter for almost six months, and so far, he hadn't spoken to anyone or made any friends. The most anyone had heard him say was please and thank you when he was given things. And then one day one of the volunteers found him curled up in a corner of his room, a long gash running down his arm. 

They immediately called the medic, and Misha stayed curled up, his arm lying flat on the floor while they worked to stop the bleeding while he sobbed, burying his head against his arm. He vaguely heard the medic walk in. He had seen her around the shelter before, but had never spoken to her. 

[text; Balls] I'm reporting you for harassment.