"No." Siffleur says, bluntly, growl low in his throat. "Kill yourself, coward. I do not exist to punish you."

He hops off the couch, his fur bristled as he puts distance between him and Crichton. "You are an idiot. At every turn, you have chosen the worst path. Even now, you make your death slow, to punish everyone around you with it, and to force them to make a choice for you. I see why the memory of your mother could be used against you. You believe that she would find you unlovable. You believe that everyone finds you unlovable, and when they do not, you give them reasons to."

Siffleur's tail swishes aggressively, and he quickly hops up on one of the top shelves, shoving into the overstock and knocking boxes on the ground, keeping distance lest he feel the urge to give Crichton what he wants.