[Yeah, he needs to sit down after all, if only to make it harder to do things like that. Michael mumbles something that might be an apology before moving to place himself on Lance's couch. He folds his hands on his lap, to try and keep them occupied with each other, like they have minds of their own.

Limited time, yeah, that's what he's hoping. Even if he has to die to reset or something, so be it. He can't live with this indefinitely, it'll drive him crazy. And maybe hurt someone.]

I've kept it in check so far, kind of, but I don't know how long I can keep that up.

[He's had kind of a bad track record of self-control, and he knows it.]

I'm just so fucking angry and I don't know where to put it. It's like there isn't room for it all.