He's missed a step somewhere. Or maybe the formula is off altogether. Sylvain thinks of it this way, hoping to keep the gloom he feels deep in his heart from tainting the math again. Sometimes it's easier to put things safely into numbers where his feelings can't get their claws hooked in. It's not always his go to, and it's a hard decision to make given he's used to simply accepting blame, but he tries.

So he listens a little more sharply, a little more surely, to Claude this time. It's all the same numbers, but this time, it feels less like an accusation, a verdict of guilt. A different outcome. In the back of his thoughts, Sylvain wonders still, but he pushes it back down. Just for now, he needs to be stronger than mire he usually sinks into. He's been gone long enough to hurt people. What good is he to them if he's lost to his guilt?

He can make up for it. He can be present. Not stuck in his own head about it. That's better. There's purpose there; he's making his friends feel better by not scourging himself. It means more to him than anything he could ever hope to afford to his own wellbeing.

"Fe would punch me, wouldn't he?" Sylvain mumbles, mostly to himself though not outside the realm of hearing through the gear. Then he draws in a deep breath, holds it, and exhales to help steady the thunderous pace of his heart and thoughts.

"I'll try," he mumbles again, but turns his gaze up to finally look at Claude properly again. More firmly, he nods and says, "I'll try."