"I felt it," he insists, as much as one can when floating in bliss. He flicks through memories in a haze. An excuse made for someone who caused pain, a panicked grip, a shoulder soaked in tears, a chorus of voices. Context is not quite there, but the feeling is.

"Despite everything." A dark, foreboding intensity, followed by twisted pain, anger, and grief. It's not his, just the memory of all that on someone else's face. More than one person. More than one friend forgot who they were and lost themselves.

"I feel it now." The hairpins slip out of his hands. It's so bright. The colors are too much. There are voices where there weren't before. He has to protect Paul from it, shield the flame of his benevolence from going out, or maybe save himself from drowning. He wraps his arms around his head without smothering.