The more he listens, the more he hears the tumult of emotion pouring into each word, hers and his own. He can't differentiate them anymore. They're too strong, too much. His hands unknot and run through his hair instead, bringing his head down as if he might protect his mind from this chaos somehow.

"Stop it," he says, but his voice is barely a whisper. He's louder when he repeats, "Stop it. Please."

Don't cry. Ignore the pain in your chest. Swallow down the lump in your throat. Breathe. Lift your head. Why won't you lift your head?

"Y-You're lying. Y-You're lying, and... and I know you think it... it helps, but... it doesn't." It just makes him feel helpless. Again. He's always helpless. His fingers curl in, bunching up his hair in his fists. "I... don't know... what to do. I... don't know what to... to say."