[the sudden movement of his conversation partner was faintly alarming, but he regarded it with an expression more akin to annoyance than anything else before she took hold of him. the thought that he'd have to push her back down if she kept shifting like that completely flies out of his mind, as if it had never existed.

if Vincent were to be mistaken for a statue right now, it wouldn't be terribly far off. his entire body has gone stock still, eyes as wide as a deer staring down its oncoming demise. he can't even feel his own heartbeat.

a mother's touch is powerful, but her wishes even more so. he'd stopped allowing his own mother to get anywhere near him almost a year before he'd run off and it had been even longer since he'd heard her tell him she wanted to see him happy. this wasn't meant for him - it was all for Kit, he knows - but the simple gesture strikes him somewhere so vulnerable that is incites physical pain.]

I already told you, you're asking the wrong person.

[...]

But if you're going to be such a pain in the ass about it then I guess that mistake's on you now.