It took a while, a few minutes of forever, for him to catch his breath again and stop shaking, for him to pull himself together enough that he wasn't choking on his own breath and getting snot on his sleeves and for him to stop feeling like an idiot for breaking down at all.

And part of him wanted to keep crying, because maybe if he didn't stop crying, she might stay there.

But he wasn't crying, now, he was breathing, and everything had turned into a pressure inside of his head and made all of it a little more numb, and if he didn't say anything while he sat there and breathed, maybe she wouldn't go, anyhow.

It didn't make sense, but when did sense have anything to do with any of it?