Those notes of worry in their voice were enough to propel him to act. His hand slipped from his mouth, dragging against his tongue on the way out, and he sagged against the bathtub. The air left his lungs in great, strained huffs. He could barely see through the door because of the tears in his vision. His mouth tasted terrible, all sour, and his fingers felt disgusting. They were slightly pruned, like they'd been in water for some time.
"I am not," he said. Or rather, he tried to say. He was breathing so heavily that the words came out wrong. He flattened himself against the tub, grateful that he could feel the press of the cool porcelain through his shirt.
His panic worked in an inescapable loop. Every time he thought of the situation, of how pathetic he felt, he also thought of what had gotten him in it. And every time he thought of that, he immediately felt sick again. Wanting to gag made him even more anxious, as it would undoubtedly make Rin worry. Thinking about Rin made him think about what they'd done, and thinking about that made his fears surge even stronger than before. This would cause the thought loop to work backwards at an even higher intensity than before. Eventually, once it reached the start, the cycle would start again.
"Rin," he sobbed, bringing his knees to his chest. It was the worst episode he'd had in quite some time. That one word was all he could manage. He hoped it would convince them to come in, but he also hoped it wouldn't. He didn't want them to see him like this, but he really needed help.