"There's too much, it's not mine," Trowa mumbled into his sheets, curling tighter into himself, as if to shield himself from something. He couldn't deal with all the emotions. They weren't his. Where was he?
He settled a little when he could sort Quatre out of the mix. Why did he feel Quatre? But the feeling of concern was so familiar, as familiar as his own self. Quatre was always concerned about them. It was how he'd imagined Quatre felt at least. What was going on?