Steel doesn’t give. A pressurised canister holds what’s inside it by being rigid, sealed, and under constant tension. Rattle is built this way. The valve stays shut, the hose stays coiled, and everything he’s holding sits just behind a thin brass fitting that was never meant to be opened in company. He’s been painted over and tagged over by other people, so he’s already loud on the outside before he’s said anything.

Move him and he rattles. Knock him and he rings. Even carrying quietly is a risk, because the thing inside shifts and announces itself. He’s learned to go slowly, to set himself down gently, to never be shaken. The fear isn’t the contents. It’s the moment the valve gives and everyone turns to look.