"Kinda why I called you." He admits quietly. "I don't-" he sniffs and runs a hand roughly under both eyes as he pulls away and presses himself back against the pillows at the head of the bed. "I don't think I could deal with that. All the- you know, judgey bullshit." Because whether they meant well or not, he knows without a doubt his siblings would inevitably end up painting the moment in criticisms.

He's quiet for a long moment, staring down at his fingers and their busywork fidgeting with the blanket he's pulled up into his lap. "Are they gonna hold me-- you know, like- a psych hold? I-it wasn't like... on purpose or an attempt at--" He waves one hand in a vague circle, unable to even say it, how is he supposed to talk about it, Klaus?

Another stretch of silence that feels as claustrophobic as the crypts his father liked to shove him into draws on again before he finds another question, too. Far more personal this time. "Have you ever--" he waves his hand in the empty space between them, as if to indicate the situation as a whole, as an end to the not-really-asked question.