You're fine. But you begin to notice: hours are bleeding through your fingers. Your mouth is sticky with sleeplessness, and your chest feels clawed-out and hollow. There's a forest behind your eyes, and it's dark. Time is getting rounded and strange at the edges, and you're forgetting– something. Your throat is thick with the raw nerve-hurt of an in-held scream, words are sharp under your tongue. Your fingers ache with inaction, your jaw is clenched. But it's okay, you're fine. Yes. We're fine.

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