Being this close to Ventus is almost torture. It's like when he's too exhausted to stay upright, the feeling of tipping backward on a chair, if he just fell forward, and let go, maybe he would have rest and peace.

The hand going out and falling drives a little spike of pain into him, as does the question. Ventus... Ventus doesn't know him. He's not supposed to see Ventus and Ventus didn't come to see him. It turns to anger, like a muffled pot fire, a burning caustic thing that nevertheless cannot escape like any of the others. Eye contact is broken, and with it, the sheer force of the strange mood, left to it's constant lingering.

"I was hurt already," he says, uncaringly and unwitting of the kind of questions that could unleash - it's just a fact. "Don't do that again." Or he'll... something, probably. He can't really do anything to Ventus without him probably crying to Eraqus about it and that's a thought that sends a wave of pure ice down his spine. It takes him this long to notice what Ventus is doing with his shirt isn't just nervous fiddling. A part of him feels disconnected, like he's watching himself squint and flatly say the words "what the fuck are you doing" or his ears are ringing a little.