[ Wash stays like that, for a while. He watches for where Byerly struggles, adjusts the amount of weight and pressure he's pressing against his throat to keep him right on that edge, finding that limit but not quite pushing him over. Dragging it out, he does always like to drag it out. Make that little moment of someone fraying completely at the edges last, someone unraveling completely at the seams, just like.
He watches that tear roll down his cheek. Watches him struggle for every not-quite-breath he's managing to take, feels his throat bobbing against his arm. ]

This is a good look for you, Byerly. [ Just on a low murmur, something hard and commanding to his tone even when his voice is soft. He eases up just the barest fraction of an inch. ] I think I can play a little more, but if you want to breathe, you're going to have to beg.