The malaise and despair of the latest memory made Louis feel even sicker than before, his already unsettled stomach rolling. He ground down on his back teeth against the nausea, and tried to ignore his blossoming headache. Who was that? He didn't know the owner of that memory, and didn't much like being in their head. He felt sorry for them, though in the moment it felt like being sorry for himself, since the emotions were all so freshly experienced. The exhaustion and isolation and physical pain wore down on him. He hoped that the man in the vision had gotten better, recovered more fully from the whatever it was that had rendered him so incapable of moving forward, but it was a small hope.
Mostly, Louis was trying and failing to get a handle on his ongoing worry, and his increasing desire to curl up in bed once he'd checked on Evan. Everything was completely out of his control, and he hated feeling as if all he could do was sit and weather it. But it had to end soon. It had to.