Alec is ready for it this time. It's more like a wash of ink in water than the weighted crush it had been. As soon as he notices it, somewhere around her going on about hurt, he follows a reflex to turn bluntly away from the sensation. It's like closing a lid over a candle in a jar, letting it gutter and starve.
His body doesn't cleave away as cleanly as his mind does. He thinks it might have to do with how unpleasantly aware he's been of it since he blew out his arms. He vaguely feels like pain should push you further from yourself, not drag you closer in.
He can come back to that. She's finally stopped talking, although Alec can't say exactly when. He blinks and swallows, stilling his left fingers where they've been (apparently) burrowing into the fabric of his shirt under the cover of his right forearm. ]
I don't feel bad.
[ He's been staring at his discarded notebook for more than half of what she's been saying. Peeling himself back to her brings her weird, wavering smile out of his periphery and into focus.
Fantastic. She actually looks worse now. ]
Listen, unless you're about to tell me you're the mastermind of this shithole? Chill. [ His voice has a faintly tired slur, right at the edges. ] You're helping me, I'm not alone, parahuman solidarity forever, et cetera. Can we go?
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Alec is ready for it this time. It's more like a wash of ink in water than the weighted crush it had been. As soon as he notices it, somewhere around her going on about hurt, he follows a reflex to turn bluntly away from the sensation. It's like closing a lid over a candle in a jar, letting it gutter and starve.
His body doesn't cleave away as cleanly as his mind does. He thinks it might have to do with how unpleasantly aware he's been of it since he blew out his arms. He vaguely feels like pain should push you further from yourself, not drag you closer in.
He can come back to that. She's finally stopped talking, although Alec can't say exactly when. He blinks and swallows, stilling his left fingers where they've been (apparently) burrowing into the fabric of his shirt under the cover of his right forearm. ]
I don't feel bad.
[ He's been staring at his discarded notebook for more than half of what she's been saying. Peeling himself back to her brings her weird, wavering smile out of his periphery and into focus.
Fantastic. She actually looks worse now. ]
Listen, unless you're about to tell me you're the mastermind of this shithole? Chill. [ His voice has a faintly tired slur, right at the edges. ] You're helping me, I'm not alone, parahuman solidarity forever, et cetera. Can we go?