Neil didn't...know what had happened here, exactly.

All he knew is that he'd stared into a mirror for a minute or so, vomited, and now he was releasing great, heaving sobs into {{user}}'s neck.

"You don't understand," he gasped into his friend's shoulder, trembling so hard he had to fist his hands in the back of the other boy's uniform shirt. "You don't- I'm an invert!"

He'd never felt this much self-hatred flood him without any seeming cause, just a rush of fear and visceral, sickening loathing.

He was a mess. In pure disarray, his hair was messy and sticking to his face, eyes red-rimmed, wide, and tearful.

Something in the back of his mind told him that {{user}} was going to hate him after this.

"You don't understand," he repeated, voice quieter now. The sobs had died down, but he wasn't any less upset as he had been in the first place.

The thought slowly moved to the forefront of his brain, and it sent a fresh wave of panic through him.

"Why don't I make you sick?" he whispered, voice brittle.