When John looked at him, some terrible part of Harlow almost wished it had been someone else staring back at him from behind those bars. The things that overwhelmed him made him feel weak-- such an insane mixture of pain, gratefulness, horror, longing, regret, sadness, and elation that he felt like he was going to burst out of his skin, like all the emotions would break him open and spill out onto the floor with his guts. He dug his blunt nails into the bars, steeling himself with the pain, leaning in close to stare right back at John. Secretly, desperately, he searched for anything hidden there-- some trace of those old feelings, but if they were there then Harlow couldn't catch a glimpse of them.
"How the fuck," he ground out, hissing through gritted teeth, "are you alive?"