He doesn't cry on her, though he feels like he wants to, just sits there hunched over, and lets her play with his hair as he breathes in her perfume and the lingering scent of incense in her room, tries to sync up his heartbeat to hers to calm himself down.

It doesn't work very well, but then again, he hadn't expected it to.

The shrill whistle of her kettle cuts through the air, and he forces himself to pull away and straighten up.

"Your water's ready," is all he says, his eyes red.