With helpless fascination, Devero watches the sutra. Why not, when he's spilled how he feels about it and its protector out into the air between him. The way it moves, the way Koumyou interacts with it-- there's almost a hunger in his eyes, deep under the beating panic of everything else that's happening.

Then Koumyou's out of the pool and approaching him, and his gaze fixes on the priest instead of the parchment. He manages to keep his mouth closed, but he does nod, Koumyou's words recalling lessons learned when he was still in creche. Emotional regulation. He closes his eyes, and he breathes.

As it's meant to, the exercise grounds him. Not much, mind, but at least enough that he no longer feels like he's about to choke on his panic. He looks a little bit less like a hunted animal when he opens his eyes and looks again at Koumyou. "I shouldn't have said that," he says, his voice low and rough. "I shouldn't have said anything, I'm sorry."