[Why does it feel it, that spiked ball of something coiling up in his stomach, like cat fur sparked with static electricity rubbing beneath his hands, against his legs, persistent, inescapable?]
[It's sympathy.]
[But it doesn't make sense. He's not white-walled fever dreams and the chemical pinch of a needle in the crook of his arm and the agonized yell of a child arching his back against the cot because that's the only way to stop it all from hurting - ]
But...you just said...
[This entire conversation is starting to feel like - like squinting through the sun, a sharp pain driving into the center of his skull reminiscent of looking at something he's not meant to see.]
no subject
[It's sympathy.]
[But it doesn't make sense. He's not white-walled fever dreams and the chemical pinch of a needle in the crook of his arm and the agonized yell of a child arching his back against the cot because that's the only way to stop it all from hurting - ]
But...you just said...
[This entire conversation is starting to feel like - like squinting through the sun, a sharp pain driving into the center of his skull reminiscent of looking at something he's not meant to see.]