Shotaro notices Terui's stare: it'd be hard not to, really. He shifts his grip on his mug, tugging it up to his stomach and wrapping the base in his left palm. When Terui's hand settles on him, he jerks in surprise, watching Terui's face as he speaks with a set to his jaw that's part shame (about being so weak, about not being able to move on, about not being able to save him in the first place, about this clear worry that he was going to break his promise to Philip and give up, about everything), part trying to keep down the stinging at the back of his throat from his battered resolve.

"I know," he croaks, before he pauses to gather himself back in. "I know, all right, we're all we've got. Nobody knows that better than me." He breathes, and Terui's face causes a pang in his chest. He's not the only one hurting. He fixes his eyes on a ding in the tiles at his feet. "Like I didn't have enough nightmares already, huh?" he asks, a bad attempt at shying away from Terui's--not advice. Wisdom, he guesses. Experience. Terui endures, and Shotaro feels a little like he's offering up a little of that endurance to share. God knows he needs it.