[ Matt was expecting something awful. But "awful" can mean such a vast and horrible panoply. Situations like these existed on his own world, and frankly Matt didn't think about them a lot. He was always content enough to hone his magical skills improving his own green corner of the world: Growing better gardens. Painting protective wards on buildings. Purifying drinking water. Compared to the story of Amos' childhood, it all feels so hollow.

Matt's face is pale, his expression sober. But he doesn't want to communicate something that's gonna make Amos feel like--Matt's not even sure. Like he's broken? Which saying "oh no I'm so sorry that's so horrible" can weirdly sound like--like you can't believe the person in front of you is even a person anymore after something so shattering. It can even sound like you think they're contagious. Untouchable. Matt doesn't believe any of that, but he's not sure how to say what he does believe. ]

Okay, [ he says at last, giving a soft nod. He hasn't looked away either, searching Amos' face for an expression he can make sense of. He doesn't find one, but he doesn't blame Amos for that. How are you supposed to look when you're telling someone this kind of story? Matt's jaw stiffens slightly as he adds, ] You're right, though. We're not gonna let that happen to anybody else.

[ A pause. Matt measures his words (inadequate, as usual) against his feelings towards Amos (affection, wretched sympathy, protectiveness, a deep-buried ember of righteous anger), and ends up with: ]

Do you want a hug?

It's okay if not, it's just-- [ He huffs a breath, a little frustrated with himself. ] It's the only way I know to show people I care.