Ugh, he hates this. Hates that this guy seems to understand the feeling uncomfortably well. Hates that he can read some of that look in his eyes. And... everything about this place. All of it. Quietly, with reluctance, he adds:

"... I can't remember anything that'd explain why it felt like that."

But that's clearly as far as he'll take the whole opening up thing. He doesn't even know, exactly, why he felt compelled to say those words. Maybe... desperation? Which instantly sounds stupid in his own mind. Yet... he's already finding himself glancing off to the side, noting the things he can see. Focusing a little more to all the sounds he'd normally consider purely background noise. One hand lightly curls into the fabric of his jacket.