[Something feels like it cracks. Something feels like it's being torn. On one side, the assurance it's okay, he can step back. He's allowed to not be okay. And on the other, you need to do it, the need for control and confrontation and to not be broken and reformed and --]
[What do you want from me?]
[-- feels like it's screaming through his head alongside a roaring sensation. A surge of anger and adrenaline he knows comes from the thing in his head. It's only the training, the constant work, that keeps him from losing himself to the symbiote and its anger. He feels metal fingers wrench through the counter.]
[And forces himself to stop. To breathe. To listen to the voice in his head he's come to trust as much as Pidge's.]
... Suit. Yourself.
[It comes out harsh through gritted teeth. Through tightly leashed control over emotions otherwise left to run wild on grief and flashbacks.]
no subject
[What do you want from me?]
[-- feels like it's screaming through his head alongside a roaring sensation. A surge of anger and adrenaline he knows comes from the thing in his head. It's only the training, the constant work, that keeps him from losing himself to the symbiote and its anger. He feels metal fingers wrench through the counter.]
[And forces himself to stop. To breathe. To listen to the voice in his head he's come to trust as much as Pidge's.]
... Suit. Yourself.
[It comes out harsh through gritted teeth. Through tightly leashed control over emotions otherwise left to run wild on grief and flashbacks.]
I'm not. At my best right now.