"No, not whatever I need." Some other time, if he'd had energy, there'd be more bite to that. More defiance against Chris shoring up his defenses and focusing on him instead. Or he'd be able to coax a different direction, maintain his previously expert command of words and social ability to get them talking, to excise this feeling of... He's not sure what, but it's wrong. Heavy. More than misery and anger but less than desolation and rage, somewhere in a hateful middle that makes progress seem so out of reach. Instead he sounds a little stoic, a little exhausted but accepting despite the rejection of the words. He knows the other side of that and well; be of service, be there for him and only him, you don't matter in this moment.

Only they both matter in any moment, especially now.

He looks over at Chris, his entire focus on his boyfriend's sagging demeanor, half collapsed with tears obvious even among the remains of their dive. He shifts, grunting softly as he rolls up on one side and brings his hand very near to Chris' knee without touching, a little island in the sand within easy reach. He leaves it there only a moment before deciding that's not enough and moving it closer, gently curling fingertips against Chris' boneless grip. A compromise of touch that he needs to give but isn't sure Chris wants. "Whatever we need. Together."

He searches his love's face and finds loss there, regrets and guilt and so much else it puts a lump in his throat. He finds his voice around it, husky for emotion and low, barely audible above the surf. "Talk to me, dear heart. I'll wait until you find the words."