Krok sits that way, trying to find his centre again, for a few minutes. Part of him doesn't want to budge, needing the support Fulcrum offers so freely, but he's only too aware that he's probably heavy on the lanky 'Con and can't lean into him too much longer.

Slowly, reluctantly, he loosens his hold and sits back. His hands linger on Fulcrum's arms, though.

He starts to speak, to apologise for putting all this on his friend, but the words won't come. So he just looks at the floor, shame creeping across his face.