[He makes a soft sound in response. Not surprised by the response by any means, but perhaps pained by it even when expecting it. No, no, your response before was correct. This--]
Keith. [He at once wants to hear that, be reassured by that, and yet wants to reject it-- it's not right, it's not right.]
[He pulls back from where he's pressed his face to his shoulder, face blotchy and red, tears in his eyes still, his own voice shaky and watery, but insistent all the same, strained in his own sort of pain, too.]
Keith, I was trying to kill you! [You can't just dismiss that.] I was-- if you hadn't--