He is so, so glad that he doesn't need to breathe; he feels like he'd be hyperventilating. He can feel his body shaking at the sight. Fear? But why is he afraid? That look is frightening, that he's regarded in such a way - he can see the clenched jaw - and his mind screams at him to run.

Instead, he drops his coffee. It feels akin to having an episode of breaking down - in that one off-chance hiccup. The loss of movement, of control, of collapse. Helpless.

If he had a bladder, he'd probably be pissing himself. He's never been afraid of someone's looks before - of a simple expression and a demeanor.

Despite his efforts to stay strong, his legs give out the moment his name is called out. He drops like the doll he is, as if strings were cut, and only barely manages to catch his fall on his hands. Judging by the strength of the fall, his hands have gotten roughed up. His mind subconsciously feeds himself this, due to his lack of pain receptors.

"Y-yes... it's me..." he murmurs in Japanese, for now unaware of the language blip. He's too preoccupied by the emotion that's gripping his heart. He's not even aware of how his eyes are wide and watery, and his face flushed.

Congratulations, Victor. The HC has now learned the emotion called fear.