Hephaestus had promised him there would be no phantom pain, and it's not quite pain exactly that makes Thor subconsciously rub at his arm where flesh meets metal. Remembered pain, the odd feeling that there shouldn't be anything there, rather. An echo of a memory that fades as reality reasserts itself through touch, grounding him in the here and now.

When did Prometheus get small again? Thor hadn't noticed, but nor does he protest the halt to their match as he tries to collect himself. "Is that what happened?" Yes, that sounds right, though things get rather fuzzy after his leap. Letting go of his arm, Thor scrubs his hand across his face, as if trying to sober up, and he spares a moment's regret that he's already sober.

"I, uh... I think so." How odd to feel the words coming out of him, knowing that not all that long ago, they wouldn't have. In the company of a friend, and without alcohol to blur his memories in a haze, somehow it's easier. Something he can face, at least for a little while. Even though a part of him would still much rather seek out a drink right now. "I couldn't move. When he made me watch."