In another time, Laruku would have welcomed that faded, distant connection. He would have given it a chance. When exactly the change happened, he couldn't say, but he had lost faith a long time ago. He didn't believe that things mattered, especially not these little things that likely had never meant much to begin with. The ties that he and this false-brother had had been worn from the beginning. They had never told each other their secrets, and they had never stayed up to sunrise contemplating the facts of life. Mostly, the blind man didn't care anymore, and the part of him that still did care, that sliver of heart left perpetually aching, cared too much. That part of him cared to the point of letting go, because he knew any closeness foraged out of the emptiness now would only end in something far worse.
This was his good deed to the world, to shut himself away where he couldn't harm anyone else. This was the punishment he'd bring on himself because there was nothing else he could do. Maybe Jefferson or Maluki would never realize it; maybe it was better that way, but most likely, that didn't matter either way.
Then keep living. Don't wait up for me,
he said, and maybe there was sadness this time. The half-grin was still there, but the conviction was gone, if it was ever there at all. Laruku turned back to the other once more, but it was a brief glance. Another second and he was faced again and moving away. If he could help it, they would never meet again. That was the way it had to be.