[The way he goes quiet is probably enough to say that it hadn't been an option he considered, in this whirlwind romance or whatever the fuck. Eventually he sighs and shifts to lay on his back and stare up at the ceiling instead.]

Getting out of that without anyone dying would be a fucking miracle. I could die -- it's way more fucking likely that's gonna happen, you know? Nothing fucking special about me in a fight. And then if I somehow fucking don't, and you're okay... I'm gonna get old, someday, even if I don't got any kind of future I'm ready for. Life doesn't really give a shit about what I'm okay with. Dumb to try and plan around it.