[ At that, Gen just gives Matt a Look, not entirely unlike the way a street dog might try to assess someone beckoning at it. Like he's not sure how seriously to take everything that's being said, here and now.

There's the rustle of fabric as he listlessly grips at his shoulder to try and ease the constant pain that ebbs and flows through his nerves, and Gen eventually looks away as he mutters, ]

... I can manage. [ But this reiteration of the sentiment sounds ... uncomfortable. It's subtle, but there are distinct suggestions that Gen simply isn't accustomed to this sort of conversation -- the way his voice comes lower and a little lacking bite, the way he avoids eye contact, the tight curl of his fingers into the fabric of his shirt. He clears his throat before adding reluctantly, ] I didn't ask you for any help. Don't go getting all pissy 'cause I turned it down. -- or are you one of those types used to talking things over with everyone all the time.

[ Matt's guess had been right -- Gen's shittiness is mostly just out of a desire to be macho and self-sufficient. But it's also just that he doesn't know how else to exist. Willingly accepting that offer of help from someone who seems as soft as Matt would imply weakness, and he can't permit that. ]