"Don't wish to," he says, in a tiny, pathetic voice, burying his eyes in Iago's shoulder and holding him fiercely close, knuckles white in his shirt. It's still there, that shard of ice, not melted at all. Or maybe something Phibrizzo did. But he can feel it, splintering out like a slow Van Rail. "I'll make it easy. Just don't let me."
Interest and superfluous qualification noted. Post should be up in a few days.