[She's right. He realizes it all in a rush - he doesn't have to hurt her because he already has, just by turning into a Hork-Bajir, and he can't help but feel a flash of anger at the fact she didn't even give him a warning. Didn't let him know and make the choice whether to do it or not with all the information available to him. Marco hates not having all the details, making choices based on incomplete knowledge. Now's not the time to be angry though, because he knows.
The smell of vomit doesn't bother him. Neither do the tears. Marco's not a touchy-feely guy, he never has been, but he knows this, knows that particular combination of puking and tears and blurting words without thinking them. When she reaches out to squeeze at his arm, he takes it as permission, moves forward, crouched down in front of her, and reaches out to close his hand against her upper arm, squeezing gently, letting her keep hold and ground herself with it.]
I know. And hey, wherever you're going, try to let it go and come back, okay? It's not real anymore.
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The smell of vomit doesn't bother him. Neither do the tears. Marco's not a touchy-feely guy, he never has been, but he knows this, knows that particular combination of puking and tears and blurting words without thinking them. When she reaches out to squeeze at his arm, he takes it as permission, moves forward, crouched down in front of her, and reaches out to close his hand against her upper arm, squeezing gently, letting her keep hold and ground herself with it.]
I know. And hey, wherever you're going, try to let it go and come back, okay? It's not real anymore.