[Taashath's arm around him is simultaneously a source of comfort and more upsetting. How can he even answer that question? His voice comes out wobbling and weak.]

I need to go home.

[Oren knows even as he says it that this is not making the situation any better. These are not the behaviors of a mentally stable man. This also must feel terrible for Taashath, which just makes Oren feel worse. Even if this Taashath isn't his Taashath he doesn't want to hurt him like this.]

I'm sorry, I'm so sorry--

[A sob cuts him off. He can't even speak anymore so instead he goes to his own self-comforting techniques. Nothing here can be fixed if he doesn't calm down. Oren takes slow, deep breaths, one after another. He focuses on the things he can physically feel, the sound of his breathing. Then, he lets himself take note of where his feelings are sitting in his body. The sinking stomach, the quickly beating heart, the shaking hands, and one by one the sources of his discomfort fade. It's not perfect, his nose is stuffed up and his eyes hurt from crying, but he feels better than before.

Once he feels reasonably sure the tears have stopped he wipes his eyes with his hands. His voice is steadier the next time he speaks, though his body language is still incredibly vulnerable.]

I wish I had my handkerchief...I'm a mess...I'm sorry, Taashath, this must be hard for you.