[He's barely even to his feet when Akira grabs hold of the hoodie, and the resistance makes him twist and try to pull out of it, but he's wobbly. He's not firing on all cylinders by any means, and he can't quite figure out how to talk around the solid lump of fear lodged in his throat, so he just pushes at Akira's hand like it might do something to dislodge it. His feet are still scrabbling against the floor, body angled to try and lean as far from him as he can manage. There's a dim, tiny amount of relief in hearing Akira speak, and that he wasn't struggling to breathe, but it's minimal.]
[His voice is stretched thin with-- a lot of things, actually, tight and high in the back of his throat.] I'm-- fine, let go, you're less fine.
no subject
[His voice is stretched thin with-- a lot of things, actually, tight and high in the back of his throat.] I'm-- fine, let go, you're less fine.