"I was going for a run." That sentence is palpable with relief over an undercurrent of still-present worry, mind racing even as the rest of him tries to calm for Chris apparently having been in no real danger.

I dropped, like it was planned. Intentional. From that high up, he wanted it to hurt, which is... unsurprising, if he thinks for even a moment. If he remembers this is the man who used to start fights in bars with clever words for the express purpose of getting punched. Who needs pain to center himself. He can't imagine wanting that after the hell they'd both been through, but he doesn't have to understand. He just has to accept that sometimes this is just something Chris does.

He should, but he's not sure he can. He wants more than anything to be able to support whatever Chris wants to get through the aftermath of the last... fuck, what, month? Month and a half? Loss and pain and helplessness all relentless. It's a wonder he hasn't thrown himself into the sea before this.

"Let's get back to land, alright?" He kisses Chris' forehead, trying to let go of the worry that has a stranglehold on him but it rides his voice out with a slight tremor. "I don't think I can keep this up for too long with boots on."