[He feels as if he's been bowled over. He doesn't quite manage to say the words he knows he needs to say. They fumble out of him, quiet and pained.]
Someday, I won't...
[He can't finish the thought, can't actually say it. It occurs to him that he's never actually said it aloud. Someday, he won't be here. There will, eventually, be a time when Keith has to be without him.
He's the one to break eye contact then, clenching his eyes shut and ducking his head. When he breathes, it's a soft, pained breath-- like he's been punched in the gut and he's trying to catch his breath again. He doesn't let go of Keith's shoulders.
The words behind him start to fade once he's ducked his head, quiet and still for a moment. There's a brief moment of darkness. And then the new words form, brightening and brightening until it's almost blinding: