This is not a conversation I want to have. It occurs to them that they may never have thought anything more true than that. They worry he might have heard it. He probably heard it. They're always hearing things they're not supposed to hear, anyway.
Wolfgang sticks the knuckle of their thumb in their mouth and begins to chew it, leaving little imprints of their teeth. Their other hand opens and closes spasmodically. “I really like you,” they manage. — end of sentence. There is no ‘but.’
“I can't always... I mean, I can't always control it. Um, this.” They gesture around them, all of this weirdness here. “And it's not always good. It's dark, and um, it's scary.”