Michael screws his face up and winces as he suddenly finds himself alone once again. Or not alone, exactly—very much not alone, in the physical sense—but a single person, on his own, his thoughts by themselves in his head and his body fitting him properly and his knowledge ending where it should. It’s a blessed relief. It’s also disorienting in the same way as the change in gravity; his limbs feel too heavy and his skull feels too light. Too quiet. Isolated. He stares into Wolfgang’s eyes until they look away.
It’s hard to know what to say after a thing like this. His throat feels too thick with possibilities for any of them to come out, and he hates it. Something terrible and wonderful happened. He needs to say something. He needs to tell Wolfgang something. Descriptions, explanations, the unfolding of a story.
There’s only buzzing, though. He can only look at them, dumbstruck.
After a minute of rhythmically stroking their hair and listening to their breathing, he takes off their hastily-made wire rims and his tinfoil hat and he kisses them. It’s a firm kiss, and it grows deeper as seconds pass, Michael’s hand cupping their face like he could pull them in closer. Like he could take them in again. He doesn’t know why he’d want that when it was so hard, but he doesn’t know the answers to a lot of things.