[He never handles sincerity well. Maybe that's why he's always been so weak to Akira. He takes a handful of short little breaths, holds them, swallows them almost, flinches at each point Akira makes, bunches inward with every statement. His hands splay and lay flat, and his fingers slowly curl at his shoulders until he's gathered a bit of his shirt in each hand, and for the first time he really tries to hear him.]

[It doesn't work as well as he thinks it should, maybe, but he's staying put and allowing Akira's hands in his hair to ground him.] I already hate myself, [He's quiet and almost deadpan about it, but manages a slight laugh.] It..., you never should have worried for your own life because of me. You should worry about your own life because you want to live.