The feeling of the coat draping itself over his shoulders made him draw in a shuddered gasp, but it also made him fold in on himself just a bit more, the lingering warmth and the scent of Vash on the material wrapping around him almost as much as the feeling of the fabric. It made the feeling of being small, of wanting to lean into him for comfort come crashing back down on his head as he tucked his hands - scrubbed of filth but still filthy, still unclean - under his arms where they would have less risk of dirtying the garment covering him.

He was uncharacteristically pliant, following where he was guided without protest, and when they came to stand a few feet away, he crumpled against him, turning so that he could press against the front of him, his forehead pressed against his shoulder as he let the tears fall, unrestrained. On some level, his voice did help, gave him something to latch onto and focus on. But as much as the words were able to get through, they stung, and he shook his head.

"I was wrong! I was wrong, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

He couldn't even articulate just what parts of it he was apologizing for. All of it, really. Leaving, thinking his loss wouldn't hurt as much as it had, that he wouldn't care as much as he had, that he knew what was best and taking away that choice, and then dragging this man into the whole sordid ordeal and putting him through all of this. He had so many things to apologize for, and this was only the tip of the iceberg. But it was the things that, at least for the moment, were all he could think about .