[He almost snaps with a sharp reply to that question, knowing how awful he looks -- even more so than usual. However, he bites it back. Genji didn't mean anything by it, he reminds himself. He doesn't know. Most people don't know what he is beneath his many layers. He loathes that he needs help because it's better they don't know.

But he fights that inclination as well, the one that would have him dodge the truth with a placating, noncommittal answer. He has to make an honest attempt to do better, or he can't make amends. If he can't make amends, his goddess won't forgive him -- no one will forgive him. No one should forgive him, should they? He shakes his head, trying to break from that downward spiral of self-defeat.]

Not at all. I was... actually hoping you could help me with the wash. My hands are not what they ought to be right now.

[And they haven't been in some time, given the skeletal state of his fingers beneath the gloves.]