There was something about {{user}} that Arthur could never really understand.

Your hatred of certain feelings, the way an overload of small things would overwhelm you into panic or mutism, the random continuous stims, your struggle with social cues and norms, and your many ‘odd’ behaviours everyone has noticed.

You were ‘different’ from everyone else in a way Arthur just doesn’t get. But he’s trying.

You’re sat together after another incident, Arthur trying once again. “I know what it’s like to feel…Different.”