Linden has a way about him of seeming staggeringly temporary. His eyes have a similar glassy, distant quality to Temple's in that they evoke the uncanny valley somewhat, seeing what's not there and through what is simultaneously. Considering they're friends and occasional bedmates, perhaps it's not so terribly surprising that they'd seek each other out for that frost-touched common streak. Whether or not he's tried to commit slow suicide, he wants companionship too, and in this moment with Peggy, he seems at least decently committed to his assertion. If he doesn't always want to stay for himself, or even for Temple, his friendship with Peggy is one that he would miss sorely.

Her question seems to strike him momentarily silent. He's distinctly taken aback by it, but everything about his manner and bearing suggests that he's disturbed rather than embarrassed or coy. "No," he breathes, shaking his head back and forth several times. "It was closer to hate, but a kind that demanded attention and interest. He was someone I couldn't look away from, and I still can't. When I'm by myself..." he laughs, an uneasy sound, as if he knows he shouldn't be saying this. "...I like to play chess. It's always our game, and he always wins. I've tried to change it, I feel like it would mean a lot if I could, but white always wins. The sequence never changes. And maybe it's sick, but I like seeing that endgame where he was the Victor, because it makes the most sense to me."