Oh, come on, Wash, don't do that... The other's reaction is still blindingly painful and guilt-inducing, and York knows he fucking deserves it, but still... Wash can't seem to get out a full sentence, maybe doesn't even know he's sure if what he's seeing is real, and it's killing York slowly.

"It's real," he responds after a moment of Wash just touching his armour like he's checking it's actually there. Bringing his free arm around, York rests his hand over the other man's gauntlet, then slowly slides it up until he's got a grip on Wash's hand. Giving it a squeeze, he just hopes some contact in return will help the guy accept things. "I'm real. Promise."