[There is a hand on her back-- gentle, as though to comfort, but the fact that it just appears is startling enough. It belongs to a youth-- a teenage boy, really, lanky, taller than he has any right to be, like he's still growing into his shape. The barely-grown-in blond fuzz on his head declares him to be a recent rescue himself. How he managed to sneak up on Skye is anybody's guess.]
It's alright. Nobody else wants this, either. Everyone is hurting, wishing they were back. But we can't.
[...He says this like it's supposed to make her feel better. Look, he's trying!]
reality
It's alright. Nobody else wants this, either. Everyone is hurting, wishing they were back. But we can't.
[...He says this like it's supposed to make her feel better. Look, he's trying!]