[ He merely nods at Sanji's outburst, sitting back in his chair while Sanji inspects the paper. Yup, fifty days in a blisteringly hot fever, completely bed ridden in the hospital. Had that man not helped his mom's car get out of the snow, he would have certainly died. Idly, he keeps taking sips from his glass — it's starting to just taste like juice, as the alcohol burns its way down — feeling a bit strange to be sharing this with someone who can only see the results of his powers. ]

Only thing I can't use it on is myself. Or, anything attached to me. Like my clothes...

[ Many Moschino socks have been ruined... that is the important point here, not the fact that he cannot heal any of his own wounds. He'll continue on about just how secret this all is, so the scavenger hunt will get the point: ]

To be honest, I thought I was the only one in the world with powers until this year... since I had it when I was a kid and no one else could see it.

[ That, he feels a little more lonely about. It used to make him really anxious — no one knowing this deep, intrinsic part of him. It's not like he wanted people to know he was fixing their stuff and healing their wounds so he could be praised or get something in return for it, but it did make him feel separate from everyone else. In the current moment, though, he just shrugs, casting his eyes down at the water like this part of him is the most natural thing in the world. To him, it is. ]