[ The fact that Boxer's shown and doesn't immediately blanch and bolt at the body is more of a relief than he could possibly anticipate. The gravity of the task ahead is replaced in part by the weight of a hand on his shoulder. (He's a good man. He ought not to be here either.) Yusuke brushes off the apology; that he'd apologize at all almost laughable.

If anything, Boxer must've headed over straightaway. There were probably more urgent needs to tend to, but for all his relative composure, Yusuke can't totally think straight. He can't leave Richie there. It's not driven by any logical argument, but the issue's rolled through his thoughts so many times over it's compressed to a point, a fixation: he has to do this. He'd lost control of his death—what would happen if he let this get away from him, too? Richie may not be in a rush, his spirit already galloped off to wherever it's meant to go, but the same can't be said for him.

So as nice as it'd be to crumple under the offer, he gives it a slight squeeze instead, more reassuring than warm, responding politely. ]

I don't mind. [ He trails for a moment, then, ] Or rather... I won't relent on this. But thank you.

[ There's no point in losing his head in all this. He'd asked him here, and despite his unfaltering cool, Richie was no stranger to Boxer; he wasn't going to foist this whole thing onto someone who's just lost a friend. ]

Besides, he's very frail. [ ...It was like his skin was barely tethered to the muscle anymore. ] You may need the extra hand.

[ He's grateful his mask leaves his expression hooded, because he grimaces at the thought. For all his conviction, there's a moment spent in lost wavering as he slips away, drifting forward towards Richie aimlessly. ]

Though I'm not sure where to begin...