Michael doesn't have friends. Or lovers, or colleagues or even nodding acquaintances.
When he starts to get close to people he leaves. Just runs away and doesn't look back.
He remembers them all though. Of course he does.
He's seen what grief does to people and he really doesn't want to feel like that. Not ever. Not for anyone.
That's why when he receives a letter telling him to come to the reading of a will, he scrunches the parchment up and throws it in the fire.
He never stays in the same place twice and he walks like he's frightened of who he'll be facing when he looks up.
He goes anyway, of course.
Terence Boot leaves him a drawing of a house and a word of advice not to fall in love.
He snorts and leaves without looking back. He remembers the street name and the layout of the town. He makes sure that he won't end up back here one day.
When he leaves he passes a churchyard but ignores it. He won't look, he won't mourn, he won't break.
But he folds the paper carefully and stores it in his shirt pocket.
Next to his heart.