[He grimaces a little, not wanting her to think she's upset him and should have been less honest about it hurting—they don't need a repeat of the shrapnel discovery—but not willing to pretend he's unaffected. It's more sympathetic more than anything, though.]

I almost wish I could say otherwise, but it doesn't hurt. It just feels weird.

[He pokes at the glassed bullet scar in his abdomen through his shirt, which probably isn't the best idea, but eh. He can't help himself.]

Banged the glass pinkie toe against my desk chair earlier and it hurt like a bitch smushed against the rest of my foot, but I just won't do that again.

[He's lucky it hadn't shattered, honestly. At least a pinkie toe is a non-vital part. Imagine if he had a glass dick.]

For once, I guess I got off lucky. With the room, too—some people's dorms are just gone, did you know? But here we are. [He steps further into the room, gesturing at the apparently untouched space.] Never thought I'd say there's no place like home about this place, but...