Inigo pulls him a little closer and reassures him, and it's all the permission he needs to let go, sobbing helplessly into Inigo's shoulder. It's all still silent - he learned to cry without making any noise a long time ago, and the habit has stuck with him - but the shaking is unmistakable.

It's a while before he cries himself out, before all that stress and pressure and guilt and fear finally leaves his body, but eventually the sobbing lessens and stops. His breathing is still hitched and shaky, and he has not let go of Inigo - he may not for a while yet - but the worst has passed.

(The emotions aren't gone - not really. He still feels bad that he's too exhausted to help anyone, afraid of what will happen if he's needed and he can't do anything, hurt by the illusions of the past few months, but it's...manageable, now. The pressure has been released, and what's left is little enough to be numbed by exhaustion and soothed by a comforting presence. Thank the gods for Inigo.)

It's still a bit before he calms himself enough to talk, and his words are quiet, spoken half into Inigo's shoulder. "I got your shirt wet." As though that's the salient part of the past few minutes.

To be fair, he is still very tired.