[ Roy wants to shout; wants to tell Bran to stop trying, to stop pitying him, to stop bothering him and bothering with him, because he's clearly not worth the effort. But the words are stuck in his throat, and he flings himself back onto the bed, the heels of his hands digging into his eyes as he rubs hard enough to see stars.
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(Do you see the stars now?
Yes.
He yanks himself from that road.) ]
Yeah. [ A shaky smile. ] That... That'd be nice.