All he has is his single hand to rely on- from the streets to now. Even when he was given his prosthetic, with how much he did and how rudimentary it was, it broke all the time more often than not. And even then.... Prosthetics couldn't feel like flesh and blood could.

It's no longer that any more, but that doesn't mean the pressure of Psi's hand bypasses him, and he jolts slightly, eyes flicking up to him. What does he need?

...Psi doesn't want to know the answer to that question.

He has to look away, hand curling at his stomach, as he flounders to figure out what to say. The question hounds at him: what does he need? For his family to be safe. For him to do something right for once in his life when the rest of him is broken without hurting anyone else. For everyone he cares about to get the better life they deserve without being punished for wanting beyond their station...

"Things I can't have," he finally admits quietly, reaching up to grip one of his antlers again.