"Promise it was fun or promise I'm ok?" he joked. "It's yeah either way, and it's yeah twice if it gets me more kissin'."
He was ok, really. He was perfectly fucking fine when he was awake, it was just - the fucking nightmares. He'd had 'em for ages, since the night after his first Game, almost every night unless he was blacked out or too exhausted or some shit like that, and he was used to 'em by now. Only bothered him when he first woke up, and then he was fine. Really.
When he was awake and he thought about the Game, he mostly just thought about his teammates and the adrenalin rush and the absolute fucking glory of doing something you're good at, because he was fucking good at it, he was awesome, quick and sharp and hell with a bat no matter what he was swinging it at. The rest of it only came back when he wasn't looking, and then it fucking sucker-punched him.