The way she looks at him, so full of distrust, disappointment - it visibly breaks Alfred, a faint whimper sounding in the back of his throat. Her flinch away from his hand makes him flinch in turn, drawing the fingers back and hovering them in midair as though she has burned him.

Maybe she has, in a way.

You're not like them, she had said. But Alfred doesn't know who 'them' is. He doesn't know the whole of what happened to her at the Carnival, spared the ugliest details for his sanity. He doesn't know what she's been through before that, either, blind to the terrors that spring to her mind.

No, the only person he can think of is the Count.

And standing here, he feels he is becoming just like him.

"What I want," he finally manages, his voice breaking and soft as he folds in upon himself, "is for you to be safe, Seras. And right now, that's...not here. That's not with me."

He takes a little step back, wrapping his arms around himself like a bat might do with their wings. There is fondness, there, in his eyes. There is still warmth, but there is grief there, too. Mourning another thing he's screwed up, because he's always better in theory than in practice.

He desperately wants to wipe away those tears. But he can't. He can't be trusted.

"I know you weren't. I know. But I've - hurt you enough. You - you should - you...should...I can...I can still...."

Distance starts to cloud his eyes again, his whole body trembling as his gaze wanders, goes fuzzy.

"...I can...still hear him...."