"It's not hurting me, truly; Clara, it's just a lot of knowledge for one brain to hold. I know things today, that I didn't know last night, and that includes entire algorithms, theorems, and histories of the cosmos. It gives me a headache, and the burning isn't a harsh burn so much as it feels slow, groggy, making my head slog down just a bit. Like overloading a computer with too much data," Troy frowned, watching her, then chuckled when she checked his temperature.
"That's not going to tell you much, and really I'm fine Clara. Trust me, alright?" Troy's hand lifted to wrap softly around her wrist, lowering her hand from his forehead and looking back up at her, "It's not painful or fearful enough for me to feel the need to run and get it checked out. I'm sure it'll pass, in one way or another. Either it all goes away, or I stop knowing all of the world and it sits comfortably in my head."
Then he sat back, grabbing his tea once more, and taking a long drink from it before sighing a bit, "Back to the real point at hand; yes, I suppose you're right that it sounds a bit like an addiction. An addiction, a need, a desperate need really, for companionship. It's a bit sad to think someone can be so lonely that they grow addicted to a friendship. Fascinating really, and terrifying."
Troy leaned back still, his eyes watching his cousin as if to calculate what he would say next, so as not to worry her; however, instead he was just thinking on what she said, "He does a lot of wonderful things. He's saved whole planets, star systems, from one end to the next. So yes, he's a good man, but he's selfish in those well-intentioned actions, and that's a bit odd to me. I suppose even the best of us have demons and flaws, but his seems so contradictory to his own being. Doesn't it?"