He cries out as if touched by a sun-hot brand, but he remains still except for a small jolt of muscle under fingertips. His cry extends into a keen. He is only what his body is doing. He loses track of where everyone is and who is touching him. (But he knows, he'd know that touch anywhere, and it's only this person who would touch him so hesitantly.)

"Kaworu-kun!" he gasps as he jerks up, turning, possessed by a fleeting urge to leap out of the truck to go back for him. He does not. There is someone in his way, close, blocking his vision. He arrests himself and crumples like a useless doll, his body understanding the futility of going back before his mind does. His face and shoulder thump gently against him.

Once, he was caught in the pouring rain as he collapsed and passed out. Today, he is still awake. Sobs convulse through him with double their strength.