"Get to fuck." The desire to stand, briefly, overtakes him but Rush knows he has only the requisite energy to stay where he is, partially hunched and partially sitting against his own wall, one hand curled protectively over his chest, fixing Durant with a glare of unremitting hatred. He struggles for a moment, the heel of one shoe scraping ineffectively against the ground in a search for purchase that does not exist as he straightens, shoulders quivering and rigid.

"You come near me again," he drags the words out of his hollowed core, cold and desolate, and tries and fails to mask how much his slight posture shift has left him trembling, "then I don't care," he hisses the word out with a venom, a savage and icy flash of teeth, "what you are."

He stills abruptly, seething in tranquility, locking eyes with Durant. "I will. Kill you."