Even though he knew it was coming, he's immediately thrown by the sensations. Purposeful, repeated, and careful touch is something he doesn't have. It's something he doesn't get to have. And yet here Faust is, running a brush through and smoothing it over with his hand.

His hands lift from the edge of the seat to instead wind together. Something feels caught in his chest that he can't quite name. He has to remind himself not to bite his lip.

"I think it was... like in... the dream," He says. "I can't... imagine it... much shorter... I think... it must have grown... between then... and... when I woke... Must not have... um..." Died right away. But he can't go and say that out here. "I must have seen... some of the start... but that's... the hardest... to remember..."