Burrowing into the familiar scents, Waver's too upset and exhausted to offer much protest, though his jaw goes tight when Berserker effectively calls him an idiot anyway. He doesn't appreciate the implication that it's somehow his fault he's in this situation, and he's about to say so when Berserker continues what he was saying-- and derails Waver would-be complaints with confusion.

He probably shouldn't be so surprised, considering their entanglement of relationships, but Berserker has been very straightforward about being practical and nothing more. Waver's not sure what to do with this confession of... caring? Or whatever it is...

He just leans into the touch automatically, mumbling something about Berserker being the idiot. It's awkward. He feels so helpless, so unmoored, struggling to focus on his surroundings when nothing makes sense or feels or smells right.

Even if he sucks at words, Berserker's doing one thing right: keeping hold of Waver, keeping him grounded and present. Even when Waver closes his eyes, they're still forehead to forehead, sharing warmth. Mostly Waver's warmth, probably. But that's all right.