"No shit," Michal echoed, his brows popping up in surprise. They helped temper his burnt ears, and he felt engaged enough to look up from his intense gaze at his lap. Psyke Smith, here? What could she have possibly---
Michal cut his own thought short, unceremoniously realizing what could have possibly led to Psyke ending up in a place like this. He then felt guilty because he should have known better; he had attended Harper's funeral after all, and had lived with him for seven years. Feeling the sting of neglect and poor friendship yet again, Michal recoiled within his own embarrassment. His thoughts and attention wandered, only eventually snapping back to reality when he felt a gentle brush on the knee.
Startled, he cocked his head and jumped slightly in his own skin. Had Psyke just...? Was she...? His eyes stayed wide, and Michal suddenly felt like the daftest and looniest person in the Wizarding World. He wasn't really sitting beside Psyke Smith in a rehabilitation clinic acknowledging about their separate but similar mental breakdowns? This was not how they had acted with each other in the past.
A small voice in the back of his head told Michal that perhaps that was a good thing, and because of it, he attempted to respond to her. "What? Yeah," he stumbled, his brow still high in surprise. "I mean--- yeah. I've only tried one..." he trailed off, finding it difficult to focus.
"Why are you..." Michal began, thinking that he had yet to see a patient that came back and was allowed to wear normal clothes. "Are you.... what are you... why are you here?"
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