Room 121 [Early Sunday Morning]

He reaches out to touch, before he remembers that he can't. Not without the gloves, or else he'll know too much. They'll be in his head and they’ll hate that they’re there. Hate that he knows who they truly are, deep down. That he can see.

Sometimes, the things he can see are beautiful. Kindness. Love.

Sometimes, they're ugly. Fear. Hatred. Anger. Despair.

He's standing in a crowded hallway, all around him his classmates walking, running, laughing as they head to their next class. That casual brush of skin against skin as two people bump into each other- he shies away from it, fears it. At the same time he craves it, more than anything.

He reaches out to touch, before he remembers that he can't- and he doesn't need his fingers to see terror, this time. It's there in front of him, just before they both flinch away.

Bridge's eyes snap open as he finds himself coming dangerously close to falling off the bed. He manages to grab the mattress and push himself back from the edge before that actually happens, though. So now he's just lying there, trying to calm down.

[ooc: For... the person who this room actually belongs to.]