But he can feel me in other ways. I can feel him. It's--
[She presses a hand to her chest, unsure how to describe it, awash in the sense-memory of being near Dillon, of touching him, of understanding him.]
Oppressive, almost, like someone standing too close. But when I breathe in, he breathes out. When he's hurt, I can feel it. When he calls out, I can feel it. When he's close, I know he's close, and I . . .
[Feel better, she thinks, but bites it off at the end.]
spam
But he can feel me in other ways. I can feel him. It's--
[She presses a hand to her chest, unsure how to describe it, awash in the sense-memory of being near Dillon, of touching him, of understanding him.]
Oppressive, almost, like someone standing too close. But when I breathe in, he breathes out. When he's hurt, I can feel it. When he calls out, I can feel it. When he's close, I know he's close, and I . . .
[Feel better, she thinks, but bites it off at the end.]