“There’s no way out of these things,” the real South says, appearing perched on a bench at the edge of the room. She raises her head from her hands; she’s looks the kind of tired that has nothing to do with a lack of sleep.

These memories are getting to her.

“Believe me, if I could kick you out, you’d already be gone,” she continues, sitting up properly. She blows hair from her face. “Who the fuck even are you? Are you new?”

Total strangers, walking around her memories. Fucking wonderful.

In the memory, North asks, "Are your hands even wrapped?"

Past-South's teeth grit and she doesn't answer, but North doesn't seem deterred. He crosses the space between them and reaches for her wrist, catching it between one punch at the next. South jerks her arm, almost catching him in the face with her fist, but manages to stop herself before it connects.

"Get off," she growls, trying again to jerk her arm free. North busies himself examining the cuts across her knuckles. "I swear to fucking god, North, if you don't—"