It helps, he supposes, that he can see the motion rather than just suddenly having a hand on his neck. It means he can prepare for it and not lash out. Doesn't keep the crawling feeling from worming under his skin or the rapid beat of panic from settling into his chest.

"I don't know that you do," grit out through the dusty sandpaper that his mouth feels like it's turned into. He's at least still breathing. That's always a plus.

"Can we-" He swallows against the grit, closes his eyes. "Can we establish some ground rules? Um. Renegotiate our rules. Something."