He's carried so much bottled up inside, for so long, that once he starts to cry he feels like he can't stop. It's catharsis, in a way; it's despair released, for everything he's bound up in denial and buried so deep and how it's wounded him. That first meeting with Koumyou, those brilliant moments of simple and unqualified happiness had sprung hairline cracks in the walls of this dam; everything that's cascaded between them tonight has blown those eroding holes right open.

Eventually his sobs quiet, but not because he's wept himself out. No, as Koumyou's silence stretches, tension and fear creep up into his throat once more and throttle him. Koumyou's silent because he's horrified, Koumyou's silent because he's disgusted, Koumyou's silent because why would anyone but me care for you, you stupid boy? Your face may be pretty but that's all you have, isn't it?

He flinches when he hears his name, too lost in carefully fashioned ruts of self-loathing to be able to interpret the tone. Chastisement? Disbelief? Horror? He wraps his arms around his head and braces like he's going to be lashed--

The priest's next words land like a feather, but he's so wound up for pain that he opens his mouth without planning what he's going to say and what falls out is a hoarse, wretched, "You should."