[ He glances over when he feels that gentle bump against his shoulder, the warmth pressed up against his side. And while he does lean into it, allowing that tactile sensation to soothe the strange, jittery sensation simmering in his gut ... his gaze is fixed down at the shimmering surface of the coffee cup in his hands. ]

There's nothing you need to apologize for.

[ Huh. Come to think of it, he's never talked about this with anyone. There's the quiet squeak of skin against ceramic as he rubs his fingers against the cup's side, thinking. ]

... my parents were normal people. Not spiritually sensitive in the least. I was the anomaly. [ When he speaks again, it's a little quieter, a little distant. ] I remember overhearing my mother talking to my father. Saying she felt like she was going to lose her mind because of me. ... they were never meant to take on the sort of burden I put on them.