Wapun Meadow no rest for the weary

The tenseness in his face is evicted by another laugh. Secretly, he envies the other boy's humour, his deft dialogue, which seemed just as witty and light as the rest of him. But also the way people laugh after a rollercoaster, during a scary film, stuck in a grave situation they haven't quite grasped yet— that's also how he's laughing.
She sounds like a bear. Hoarding everything. Getting fat for the winter. That reminds him of something. Merrick's face, his voice, his words, they all crawl out from the woodwork. 
He leans back, supporting himself on his wrists. He feels more like himself. Whatever that meant. Yeah, he says, relieved that it isn't entirely a lie. You don't think there's anything wrong with me, do you? There's a note of pleading in his voice, a stray edge that refuses to be slicked down. He mutely berates himself for it.