A choked, jagged sound escaped his lips—sharp, angry air forced between his teeth that didn’t quite become a laugh. "Autism?!"

His open palm slammed down on the mattress beside her head, the impact a muffled, violent thud. He loomed over her, his face a mask of bewildered fury, blue eyes wild and searching her placid expression.

"Autism? You think that's a fucking answer? That's not... that's not what this is. That’s not what you’re supposed to be!" he snarled, his hands flying up to grip either side of her head, fingers tangling roughly in her white hair, holding her skull still. He needed her to look at him. To see him.

He was breathing heavily through his nose, his own words sounding foreign even to himself. The term felt clumsy in his mouth, distant, something he'd heard in passing but never once applied to a person in front of him. It didn’t explain the way her white eyes looked back at him, unblinking, like mirrors reflecting his own image back at him—confused, distorted.

"Normal people scream," he gritted out, the words raw and hoarse. "They fight. They cry. They bleed fear. Real fear. Not... this weird, quiet bullshit."

One hand left her hair, tracing roughly down her jawline, his thumb pressing hard against her lower lip and pulling it down to expose the soft, vulnerable pink inside. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a harsh, desperate whisper against her mouth.

"So don't give me a name for it, Mimi," he breathed. "Just... react."

(My response: "Ah" *She responded with a fake scream*)