"Oh, it's exhausting to see the things people feel all the time," Numair said. He reached back to undo the knot that tied the undershirt around his neck, and it came undone with a gentle pull. "Moreso, because no one ever--no one sees me. Not as a--a person, not really."

The straps of the shirt slid down over his shoulders as he brushed back his hair. As the shirt came away, and as he spoke, his calm gave way to a flash of frustration. "Just some thing to--to conquer, or manipulate, or use--"

But he caught himself, and took a deep breath. He let the shirt fall to the floor near his feet.

"I suppose it's simply been easier to keep to myself. But that's the trouble with being a spirit, you see: one day you wake up, and you realize it's been decades since someone simply...touched you." He looked at Hawk ruefully. "It's pathetic, yes?"

Hawk looked surprised. "Huh?? Geez, I don't think so," he said, flushed. He gave Numair a sympathetic sort of smile. "Only, it sounds awful lonely. An' I know what that's like, a little."

A strange expression came over Numair's face, at that. "I...it is," he said, as though he was just realizing it. And then, in a smaller voice, "...it is."