[It's not until someone speaks, sets another coffee down near him that he realizes he's been mindlessly spinning a spoon in this one so long it's gone lukewarm. He stares down at it, then at the fresh one. Trying to pull his head down out of the clouds (not literally, and not metaphorically like those in Sam's head) long enough to piece together the immediate surroundings.]
[Breathe, echoes in his mind. Someone else's voice. Phantom fingers in his hair. I'm here follows, sharper, greener than the other.]
[Okay. Okay, he's back.]
I'll get back to you on that when I know the answer.
[When there's a word for it. He shifts a bit, awkwardly pushing the old cup away, moving to pull the new one closer. All of it one-handed. All of it using his left hand. Because twitching the right one pulls the pain back up into focus again. Sharpens it all.]
Thanks. I don't remember when I made that other one.
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[Breathe, echoes in his mind. Someone else's voice. Phantom fingers in his hair. I'm here follows, sharper, greener than the other.]
[Okay. Okay, he's back.]
I'll get back to you on that when I know the answer.
[When there's a word for it. He shifts a bit, awkwardly pushing the old cup away, moving to pull the new one closer. All of it one-handed. All of it using his left hand. Because twitching the right one pulls the pain back up into focus again. Sharpens it all.]
Thanks. I don't remember when I made that other one.