[The unfortunate thing is that Genji has grown to care very, very little about the comfort of others around him. In fact, the more uncomfortable around him they are the better; maybe it'll get them to finally leave him alone. So he remains prickly, distant and cold when not being outright hostile. When he sees Jack tensing, Genji doesn't back down at all. He waits.

The catharsis he feels at Jack's answer is worth it. It's not exactly the same, of course, but it's similar enough for Genji to feel some sort of relief. It's the closest he's going to get, and that fact makes Genji cling to it.

He mutters under his breath in his native language, tone something close to relieved, before returning to English.]

Pain. There is always pain, every day. Some days it is a struggle to get out of bed so I can see the doctor [no name, they both know who he's addressing, he doesn't want to say it, too many complicated feelings] for relief. And sometimes there is an itch, as if there is still skin to scratch. I have nearly torn my limbs open attempting to sate it.

[It all comes out in a rush, like a floodgate has been opened. That relieved tone stays in his voice, a ghoulish contrast to the experiences he's describing. He expects Jack to understand at least on some level.]