It's the habit of a former slave, one who was used to returning to being a thing when he was emotionally stunted. An object that looked like it didn't have feelings, but in a different way than Tobirama.

He's jarred by him standing, though, taking the thermos back in confusion and stands himself.

"Hold up... she didn't say what 'caused what exactly, she-"

There's a sick sense of hold that grips him. He has a choice in that moment, as his heart threatens to break. He can wrap it in ribbon and hope it holds through the battering undamaged and cushioned. Or he can wrap it in more barbed wire and know it'll be torn but it will last, like it always has.

The hand around the thermos goes pale-knuckled as some lava-flavored words burn up his throat. But enough has happened aboard the train that he knows a certain priest would be disappointed in him for disrespecting a shrine in that particular way. That another of his stronger friends would rightfully think anything that came out of him at the moment was pathetic.

"You ain't the only with big screw ups.."

Yondu doesn't raise his voice to defend himself for just knowing like he wanted, 'cause there's no point but pride. And even if his heart throbs with the weight of metal he managed to control the bit of him that wants to claim he didn't ask to know, he was warned.

He turns away again and settles back down, picking up another candle to light, focussing on that instead.