[He's rigid under the weight of Miyuki's hands, shoulders unrelentingly locked into place. Huffing little breaths amid the sobbing (yes, sobbing, it comes and comes) against knuckles to a hand tightly clutched by the other. As annoying as it is, as difficult as it must be to understand where it stems from, he seems incapable of ceasing a barrage of apologies for a minute or so longer. For sometime, he has difficulty getting a hold of himself long enough to elaborate, but, hiccuped and pushed out in his guilt-ridden breathlessness:]
I don't— I d-don't want to ruin you.
[The monitor has no interest in kindly waiting for the youngest of the two boys to get through his adamant self-blaming. Even before he manages to make it to this admission, it's already prepared additional instructions:
YOU'RE NEARLY FINISHED. BUT DO BOXERS REALLY GO WITH A DRESS? PICK SOMETHING MORE SUITABLE TO CONTINUE.]
no subject
I don't— I d-don't want to ruin you.
[The monitor has no interest in kindly waiting for the youngest of the two boys to get through his adamant self-blaming. Even before he manages to make it to this admission, it's already prepared additional instructions:
YOU'RE NEARLY FINISHED.
BUT DO BOXERS REALLY GO WITH A DRESS?
PICK SOMETHING MORE SUITABLE TO CONTINUE.]