...Yeah. I am.

[Absently, he reaches for his hat, tugging it off by the brim and setting it aside — like he already knows that the impulse to dig his hand into his hair is coming and he's just getting ready for it.]

I'm mad at you the way Giorno got pissed off at me when I hurt myself right in front of him. He slapped me, and shook me, and said "How dare you, don't do that again, don't you get it, that when you hurt, it hurts me, too."

I try not to say that to you, because I'm always scared if I do, you'll stop hearing me at "How dare you" and fill in the rest on your own. But I think letting you off the hook is just making things worse, too.

So yeah. I'm mad at you. And that day too, all I wanted to do was just grab you and shake you because I hate it when things hurt you and it seems like nobody hurts you more than you hurt yourself.

So...listen, because I'm going to tell you the same thing I got told. Not a demand, not some shit to live up to, not — just fucking listen.

I don't want to watch you kill yourself.

Okay? That's what it feels like. I love you and it's like watching you kill yourself, and I can't save you from that, and I hate it.