[ He'd been scrunched up as small as possible, knees drawn up to his chest and face buried into his arm, curled up into as tight a ball as possible like he wants to disappear entirely -- and that younger version of Gen flinches the moment he feels that gentle weight alight upon his head.

He doesn't raise his head, and he sure doesn't dare to meet Atsumu's gaze; he can't help being afraid of how a 'good person' might be looking back at him, given the state he's in. But his quiet, muffled sniffles do slowly taper off, the arrhythmic jump of his shoulders with each uneven breath also steadily evening out.

(When was the last time someone offered him a kind gesture like that? It's been a long time, he thinks. His father had certainly never offered him something so coddling and soft.)

It's a long moment before he mumbles, words still muffled against his sleeve -- ]

... no. It's okay. [ Another little sniffle before he curls up smaller. ] I know nobody good would've come to help me. [ Small fingers tangle into the mess of his hair, gripping tight. ] I ... I need to have been a good person to deserve that. -- I messed up. I can't fix it any more. It's all wrong.

[ His next breath escape hiccoughing and uneven. ]

-- how can I be a good person any more?