Ira's glad that his hands help hide the grimace. Because while he can tell that this kid is trying to help, the fact that this is "real" does not help. He knew far too many things that were, some that no one around their ages ought to know.

"Don't tell me to calm down," he mutters, without really meaning to so sardonic in the process yet it just comes out that way. Trying to tell him to calm down only makes the negative emotions stronger and he hates it. He hates that this is his gut reaction to the sights and sounds. That kneejerk reaction of needing to get out, but he can already tell thanks to his nose: his powers are gone. Again. And this isn't helping because he remembers the first time he lost those borrowed - replicated - powers. And the second time.

'Don't promise something you don't know for sure,' he wants to hiss out, but stops himself. Whoever this is, he can tell is younger than he appears to be. So, he holds his tongue. If only because his anxiety started to spike when he tries to open his mouth again. It doesn't matter that he's not there anymore, doesn't matter if it's real or not. Not when-

You're being a very bad dog.

...It would be so much easier if this were happening in a fight, instead of in an enclosed space. He'd be able to handle it so much better.