[He doesn't cry. He isn't sure he can anymore, it's been years now. But there's a lump in his throat that he can't speak around, at that promise. There's someone here who's willing to stop him when he can't stop himself. That makes the horror of knowing how close he might have come to getting himself killed a little less soul-devouring.

He nods, and does his best to smile back. When he does answer, a few seconds later, his voice cracks.]

Thanks. And... you don't seem like you're anywhere near as hotheaded as me, but... if it comes down to it, I've got your back.