"Fuck," R whispered, curling up again and twisting his hands into his hair, pulling. It grounded him a little, helped him calm down - he was sure a therapist would tell him it was an 'unhealthy' coping mechanism just like all of his other unhealthy coping mechanisms but he didn't give a fuck.
"It wasn't real," he said. "None of it was real, you're okay. Just calm the fuck down, Rene." He swallowed. "Fuck. Just - sorry. Sorry, shit. Just give me a few minutes. I don't want a potion, thank you."