[He twitches at the sound of the door opening, and when he turns to look at Deckerd for a moment there is a haunted look in his optics, like he's seeing through Deckerd. There but not really. Stuck in his head. Questioning his reality.

His shades are still off, leaving just the pale orange glow of his optics in the darkness of his habsuite. He is so much more vulnerable like this. So much of an open book.

It's easy, so so easy, to read the fear there. The indecision. The worry.

Even when Deckerd takes his hands, the curl of Gunmax's mouth suggests he isn't sure this isn't just a very detailed hallucination.

It wouldn't be the first time after all. And he doubts it would be the last.

Each vent is shaky and shuddering; in and out in an uneven pattern as he clings back to Deckerd and reality. Grounding himself in what he can. Prying himself out of his memories. ]

... De-ck-erd.

[ Fragmented and static, but at least it's words. Acknowledging Deckerd's presence. He inhales deep and squeezes Deckerd's hands as his antenna swings back flat. ]

I-- sorry.

[ He hadn't meant to panic like this. Hadn't meant to spiral. ]