[He had been doing so well.

He had been doing so well at avoiding this particular horror, this awful fear no one could or would explain to him. Detached as he was in Aefenglom, a cipher from a world no one knew, with no family or history but what he chose to share-- awful as all of that was it at least left him proof against this thing that seizes and shakes him like a dog with a rat.

Or had, until he'd gotten too far in his cups and said the wrong thing.

Touch grounds him, tremulous as it is; the feel of Linden's fingers on his neck doesn't belong with the remembered terror and that puts a crack in the spell it's got over him. He draws a strained breath, then another. Takes his hands from his face one at a time, lays them palm-down on the bar with deliberate care.

Fine, he's fine, he's fine...]

Sorry, [his tone tries for rueful, smiling. Manages the former, not the latter.]

It was--wasn't a good time. [He's fine. Fine. Picks up a hand with the same deliberation he'd put it down, to reach back and brush Linden's fingers with his own. Not admonishing, simply seeking contact.]

I'm glad you're here too, you know? Glad you--were the one to ask me that. You're not ever--not ever unwanted, with me.