Ilya felt the press, vaguely. He felt very numb at that point in time.

He silently reached out for the back of Kassian's hand, and gently pushed it away from him. A polite, grief-stricken, "thanks, but no thanks."

He wanted Andrei, dammit. He would understand. How could the sniper, the stranger in their midst, possibly understand, how many times they and Sergei had laughed and argued and fought and joked...

He couldn't do anything. He couldn't move. He felt like if he sat, did anything, he would break. It was just... too much.

Andrei, Andrei, Andrei, he willed, hoping his friend would somehow sense his distress, and seek him out.