[There's always noise. There's always lots and lots of noise. Most days he likes listening to it - it's a good reminder of where he is, where other people are, that no one has to be by themselves. That's a good thing to keep in mind. But today he's tender, brain all scrambled from the repeated poking and prodding, the repetitive trauma of Skywalker's loss felt through the reflecting mirror of the nest connection. It's an old scar scraped open. He doesn't like it. He just wants to lay down and put his hands over his ears and ignore the pressure of thoughts rolling through the apartment block, over and through him and--
It takes a second to unsort and unpack it. He pauses, startled, and turns with an uneasy look to peer back the way he's come toward the common room he's blown through without any attention. There's something stricken about his expression from a distance, the white tattoos stark in the low light of the hallway.
no subject
It takes a second to unsort and unpack it. He pauses, startled, and turns with an uneasy look to peer back the way he's come toward the common room he's blown through without any attention. There's something stricken about his expression from a distance, the white tattoos stark in the low light of the hallway.
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