He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, giving a little smile. It doesn’t surprise him that Jet gets that, too, but he’s still a little grateful for it. He’s had bad reactions to the admission before, soldiers who got pissed off at him for not being strong enough to keep on when he was needed. In a professional setting, he knows how to handle that reaction, how to probe for something deeper - but they’re not in a professional setting.

“Yeah, exactly. I’ve seen people keep trying to soldier on - pun mildly intended - and it never ends up well.” For them or the people they’d been trying to help.

There’s another smile at that, this one more genuine. “I had help.” The admission comes easily, because it’s not something he’s ashamed of. He’s had too hard a time convincing some soldiers that it’s okay to need help, and to ask for it, to be one of them himself. Well. For the most part, anyway.

“But even if I’d still had them, from what people’ve told me, doesn’t sound like it’d do me any good. The Capitol would’ve just taken them.”