Emerick didn't turn to look at the person the voice belonged to. Not yet, at least. He was still focused on the scene before him: the pair just working away at the articles of clothes they were making. Emerick remembered it: it was Emily's final project. She had to create a collection to go down the runway of an event her school was putting on. He helped her with the hemming because she absolutely hated doing it, and she thought he was better at it anyway. He stayed up and helped her instead of sleeping. It was clear he was fond of the memory, wanting to take in every moment of it.

He thought about how to answer her question about altering his perceptions. Emerick smoked weed to deal with his anxiety, not because he wanted the experience of being high. It was true that he self medicated but he didn't smoke because it was a fun time. He smoked to keep his head clear, and to keep his hands steady, and to help him sleep through his nightmares.

"I don't try to alter my perception, it's just an unfortunate side effect. I've never had visual hallucinations before," but he has had auditory ones. He can still hear his father's voice in his head every single day, criticizing every single thing he did, and sometimes that voice got so loud he could swear Alexander Kline was behind him yelling at him.

"I never talk about these memories. This place shouldn't know about this." He didn't comment if it was something he didn't wish to see - that didn't particularly matter. Emerick had always worked hard to obfuscate his connection to her because he didn't want to drag her down with her career just starting to bloom, but in this new place it didn't really matter who knew about Emily, did it?