"Only the ones I like," he replied, with a short, quiet laugh. He turned his head to look back up at the ceiling, his eyes drifting shut again. The pain wasn't doing as good a job at keeping him alert as he'd thought, and it was getting harder to keep from drifting off. He lifted his hand again to trail his fingers down his chest, tracing the wounds, wincing a little each time he encountered one of the deeper ones. He didn't want to drift off, didn't want to leave himself more vulnerable than he already was.