[ he wants to cry harder. he wants to say, 'I'm terrible. I'm awful. No one should really want to be on my side.' he wants to hit. he wants claude. he wants to tuck and hide himself behind pretty eyelashes and lips that curve just a little, just right, and make this man notice how lovely every inch of himself is, because that is much easier to deal with than this sort of vulnerability, but—
none of it feels right. not in the moment, at least. so, he only pushes away a little, and vigorously rubs his knuckles against his eyelids. ]