I-- [He cuts himself off for a moment, biting his lip.]
[...]
Will you-- touch me, please? [He fumbles over the words and immediately blushes at just how desperate he sounds. He didn't necessarily mean it like that but, well.]
[He reaches out, hesitantly, taking one of Keith's hands and guiding it, pressing it up against his side, along his ribs, pressing Keith's hand firmly there. Even that's enough to get him to start trembling, but-- it also centers him, reassures him that he's real. That he's here. That he's corporeal.]
Don't-- Don't let me go. [It's a quiet request, almost a plea, desperate only for that need to be centered, not for any real fear that Keith will let go. He knows he won't. He knows he won't leave.]