[The emotions are so large, here, that they are nearly beasts, huge and incredible and potentially very destructive. L's eyes widen and he instinctively pulls away, but not hard enough to break Paul's grip on him.

It's the grip of a boy afraid of losing someone. It moves him, though he can seem to be made of stone at times. Paul has a way of doing that.]

Because it's true!

[Sharply, almost harshly.]

There's a beach. It's beautiful and terrible. That's my home dream and I have to get back to it, or...

[He struggles for a moment, with how to balance gentleness and urgency.]

I know how all of this works. I could replicate it all, except I didn't expect to leave my dream the moment I did.

[The memory of something hot, getting hotter, hurting before Lycka threw him and saved him.]

If I don't get back there, I won't wake up. I'll drown, Paul.

[Probably, he'll slip into a coma and last as long as his body does, taking in no food or water, tucked close to the wall under a short couch in an infrequently used chamber.]

I'll make it, alright? But you have to... let me, you have to let me.