Don't touch me. Hiro flinches, but hands still connect with his shoulders all the same, a solid, steady weight that he can't-- he can't.

He can't comprehend that, right now.

Slowly, he slumps forwards, Tadashi's chest cushioning his forehead as he closes his eyes. He can smell smoke and ash and his brother, mingling into some horrible, irrational fantasy that smells and speaks and touches just like the real thing.

Hiro's been fine. He's been fine, he's finally getting over this. Today was a good day, so why now? Why?

"Yeah." He croaks out. "Yeah. It's fine."

It's fine.