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Summary
Michael Zhang makes his palms itchy, the back of his neck clammy and cold. The world’s going to be hard on you, he thinks, and watches the kid watch the floor, his mouth flooding with the bitter metallic taste of blood before he realizes he’s bitten down. Learn to take a hit already. He feels a kind of repulsion that he doesn’t want to be feeling, a part of him that instinctually wants to flinch away, like you would from something old, or sick.
This is what it's like, seeing your reflection.
