Anton listened to Davan with dawning realisation. "Like him"? Was this what it meant? He knew this story; it was his own, every word that Davan spoke.
Still, he looked at the profered hand as if it held some invisible weapon. "I can't," he said, and his voice shook. "Please, I can't." And he was most afraid because, for the first time, he wanted to put his hand in another person's hand.
Anton tried to explain, untangling his own confused impulses. "For me, it isn't safe. Maybe not for you, either. I don't know. I can't... I can't keep you out. I can't stop you falling into me." He knew that what he was saying didn't make any sense, but he had no words to describe what happened when he touched another person. It was like part of them peeled away and stuck to him, smothering him.