York just shakes harder once they're alone and he doesn't have to keep such tight control over himself, leaning forward to press his forehead to Ratchet's shoulder, his other hand coming up and gripping his shirt desperately. "It's... like I'm misfiring," he gasps out, not sure how else to describe it. It's an overload of sensation that he knows isn't really there, but that threatens to drown him anyway. He's not sure whether he needs to be distracted from it or just watched until it passes, but Ratchet helped the last time. York grits his teeth and focuses on putting it into words. He doesn't beg to be knocked out this time, but there's a hopeless edge to his voice.

"Everything's too loud. And bright. And moving, it's like I'm falling or exploding or--" Fuck. He just wants it to stop. He can't hack it-- "It's not real. Why is this still happening?"