-- Hey, bad. Sora blinks, looking up from his position at Link's shoulder, not even trying to let himself focus at this point. It'd be kind of pointless, he thinks. He stares at this big dark lumpy shape in the door, letting it slide in and out of fuzziness, and he's pretty sure he's starting to hear the same voices again, because that is most certainly not the person he thinks the voice belongs to. Or, at least, it shouldn't be.

He gets colder than he realizes he could, starts to shiver as the blood drains even more quickly from his face. It shouldn't be him. He doesn't want it to be that voice. At least, not yet. He's not ready.

"Link," he manages to get out urgently, but doesn't really have the blood he needs to protest from both situations combined. He tries to add that this isn't too bad, actually, that they can leave right now and maybe get a couple of bandaids and a juicebox from the general store and he'll be just fine, but a wave of nausea kicks him in the back of his knees and he sinks again. He leans heavily into Link and won't be able to move under his own steam anymore. The couch it is, or wherever Riku needs him to be. At least it's warm.