He tenses under Kyle's hand, breath jumping in surprise and eyes springing open. Though he's quick to turn aside, he doesn't pull away from Kyle.

"Fuck," he breathes, hands shoved into his hair, forming cover under which to collect himself for a second. Come on, get your shit together. As a ward against actually throwing up, he keeps his mouth clamped shut and inhales through his nose. And release. His hands ball together in front of him. An explanation of some kind is required, Wilhelm realizes.

"It's just...harder to concentrate when I'm tired. I haven't slept well lately."

Another technical truth, but his eyes are avoidant.