[ be it far for ren to ever describe the haunting, twisted and sometimes uncomfortably fleshy halls of mementos as 'comforting', but as of right the fuck now, he's starting to miss the old mementos. old mementos used to resonate with the chilling screams of human cognition. it sometimes dripped unidentifiable liquids onto your head and usually smelled like a strong combination of human despair and something like peppermint. old mementos may not have been the most cheery place known to mankind, but it was a relatively known evil. you knew the pitch of the screams, you knew the consistency of the dripping, and on a good day, you could side-step both by having a nice pair of headphones and knowing where to put your feet. ren would honestly trade the odd, off-kilter feeling that's permeated the consciousness of mankind for it any day. he'd trade it for a cornchip, even, though satan stirs in his soul and informs him that the joke isn't particularly funny and that he didn't even like cornchips anyway. which figured, because ren himself wasn't a huge fan of cornchips, and therefore he continues the usual rigmarole of self-sabotage even when it comes to really bad jokes.
whatever that ren tells himself to stay sane aside, the newly changed mementos is subtle, difficult to place. if ren had to describe it, it's that the underlying despair is quieter, the weight of human cognition as a whole lighter. he doesn't like the fact that it feels weird that mankind's happier now. that's what it is. ren isn't exactly the foremost scholar on this sort of thing, but if people think that trauma hasn't happened to them because, say, your therapist decided to discard their reality and superimpose his own kicking and screaming onto them, it stands to reason that people are just happier.
ren is no happier knowing this. mementos squelches beneath his feet, the phantom ghostly wind billowing past him whispering of secrets in languages that haven't been invented yet, and ren sets off to discover the undiscoverable.
miles of track seem unfathomably long without the mona-car. perhaps part of the weirdness of mementos right now stems from the fact that ren's never been down here alone. he pads his way down a set of escalators and follows the pale red veins towards the shuttered end of a line that never once existed in human cognition. the ground is warm. it's hard to discern how he knows this, but ren has ever been mastered by his instincts. if he took some time to think about it, a kinder reality is a warmer reality, one closer to the beating heart of humanity that runs on kinder stories, but what this is telling ren is that he couldn't be on the wrong path, even though he's not quite certain where the right path should lead. instinct takes him three more turns that gets him to the glowing, pale-lit turnstiles that line the newest set of escalators still-gleaming in the pale pink light. the realisation comes that he knows precisely where this leads. people had been caged here; many people had been caged here. this had been where the holy grail had sat, glutton on the enslaved souls of the subjugated. ren pads down the escalators and supposes to himself that if anything were to be found here, it might as well be here. the important things in life were always buried in the deepest recesses of human consciousness. it was how that stupid genocidal stewpot managed to turn everyone into mushy red rain the first time around, and he'd be damned if maruki didn't tap into the same tried and true method because - and this is a real thought that's just flit into his headL how many other methods can there to subjugate humanity?
too many, satan laughs, and ren tells him, wryly, to shut up and let him monologue.
his thoughts are disrupted as he descends the next set of escalators, stepping foot into the heart of mementos. he's not alone, he realises. he realises this the same way that birds know the name of the incoming storm. the shift in the air is like the sweep of a blade; the stale, congealed air that pools at the bottom of the human condition takes on the faint tinge of blood. immediately, ren's knife is in his hand as he surveys what looks to be someone humanoid. at this distance, it's hard to see if they have a mask on, or if they're dripping blood, gore and shadow ooze, but the fact that they're where the holy grail once stood can't be a coincidence. at this distance, however, ren knows that if he has spotted the person, the person has spotted them back. look unto the abyss and the abyss gazes back, he thinks, and satan informs him with undue patience - you're using the phrase wrong, fool. ren doesn't laugh, but he does twirl his knife.
the smart part of him thinks he should call out a neutral 'hey'. instead, the smartass part of him offers a neutral: ]
[ To one who has never stepped foot within the mementos, the atmosphere is oppressive. It sends a shudder down the back of a blue-haired boy sitting on the ground. He blinks blearily as his eyes adjust to the low light. He knows with undeniable certainty that his surroundings are unfamiliar, but it's impossible for him to determine the why. Reaching into his memories is a little like gazing into a yawning abyss, and if he stares for too long, it sends a splitting pain radiating throughout his head, as if someone were enthusiastically carving their way into his skull with a pickaxe.
The person rubs at an eye as footsteps approach, reverberating off the walls. Should he be afraid? Concerned? There's nothing though, only that very same abyss, like the one swirling about where his memories should lie.
He should respond to whoever's calling to him. He thinks he would like to do that. Instead, the boy remains silent and turns his head in Ren's direction. Perhaps he's forgotten to speak. Perhaps he does not know how to. It seems that miniscule action exhausts what remains of his energy. He trembles with the effort of trying to keep himself upright before finally giving in, slumping to the ground on his side. He thinks he should get back up, but he finds he cannot recall how, limbs uncooperative even as he wills them to move.
...tired.
He could fall back asleep like this, oblivious to the exhausted shadows beneath his eyes. ]
[ well, ren thinks, because the smartassery has a mind of its own and typically outpaces literally any other state of mind that ren has a proper leash on: no sense of humour.
the thought comes late. what comes first: ren in motion, a streak of matte black against the roiling red of human cognition. he catches the slumping figure just in time. ren has no idea whether shadows can sustain head injuries. if he had to defend his actions to akechi, he might posit that if this slumping figure is the only living thing that he's found in the asscrack of human cognition, it stands to reason that he shouldn't allow it to sustain a head injury before he's had a chance to ask it some pointed questions. but the truth between himself and satan: there was something human about the way that the figure had slumped, and that had always been enough for ren.
so he catches it - him, ren realises, blue hair spilt over the red suede of ren's gloves. he's lighter than he looks, entirely solid in ren's arms, and eyes lidded the way sleepwalkers do. ren nearly laughs beneath his breath as he shifts his centre of gravity to accommodate the both of them. ]
Alright. Not awake enough for polo. We can try some other time. You alright? Human? [ look, sometimes you have to ask. ]
[ He expects the floor. Instead, there's a stranger's arm underneath him supporting his weight. It's... warm? It's nothing like the cold stone he thinks he might have been acquainted with in the past. It's difficult to tell though, given that thinking too hard or too long about things only aggravates his migraine.
Someone's speaking to him. "Human?" What's that? Is that what he's supposed to be? The boy's eyes reopen, half-lidded and teetering on the edge of consciousness. He's being asked a question. He should respond. Speak. He should speak?
The sound that escapes his throat is somewhere between a wheeze and a rasp, as though he hadn't used his vocal cords in ages. But within the silence of the memento, he manages to squeeze out two words: ]
...don't know.
[ There's another shudder as the air's temperature suddenly plunged to the negatives. It's all the same though, and instead, he shivers as his sluggish mind finally catches up with his physical senses. There's a person here leaning his weight against themselves. And though he can't recall, he thinks it's been awhile since he was last acquainted with another person's touch. ]
[ oh. okay, ren thinks, as he quickly recalculates. not no sense of humour - no sense of self. which means sense of humour is still pending, so he'll have to get back to that later. there's something asynchronous about the way the teen - he looks like a teen, but he could easily be one of those 'really five hundred years old' situations but ren is just going to call it like he sees it and hope he isn't being too ageist - moves and speaks, as if he exists in another form of time. non-euclidean time, akechi's voice informs him with the tone of someone speaking to a fifth grade, and ren grins despite himself, because he's never going to let himself comprehend that phrase on principle.
more importantly: this isn't the first time mementos has spat out someone without memories. there are no coincidences in the ass-crack of human consciousness. ren thinks: jackpot. ]
Hey. It's okay. [ spoilers: it is not okay. ren doesn't think there's any situation where waking up in what amounts to a dungeon that sometimes bleeds on you without your memories and probably a core part of your motor skills is okay, but saying otherwise isn't going to help the situation. he props up the the young man in one arm as he works his jacket off with the other, ] Sort of okay. At least you know that you don't know. That's a start. Can you sit up a little for me? I'm strong, but my arm's going to fall asleep if we stay like this.
[ The other person's speaking to him again. He wants him to sit up? The boy blinks again and... yes, he thinks he can do that. He thinks he remembers how to do that. His body stops trembling as the newcomer offers him something to latch onto, a specific task to attach his consciousness to. Should he nod? Would that be a sufficient response?
If only he could recall how to do so.
Instead, the boy shifts a bit in Ren's arms, carefully laying a palm on the floor. He uses it to brace himself, his own arm shaking a bit at the effort of supporting his own weight. It's strange, working through all the fine motor processes required for an action that he thinks he recalls being automatic. Perhaps he would be frustrated, if he could remember that particular feeling.
He's sitting upright again though leans his weight against Ren. His eyes drift shut again as the room spins, lightheaded, as if he'd stood up too fast. And as he feels the room slowly return to stasis, he manages to croak out another syllable: ]
...where...?
[ Where was he? That seems to be a more important question over "who" was he. ]
[ okay, progress. the young man shifts against ren. he really is, he thinks, startlingly light, as if the mere mementos breeze could gust him down a tunnel. his arm shakes. ren can't quite tell if it's because of an injury or because of that odd sense of displacement in time - as if these are limbs that don't quite remember what permutation they ought to be in to move a soul.
ren is patient as the young man takes his time, and then, when he's just about tipped upright, he shuffles back in place and takes off the rest of his jacket. this, he slings over the young man's shoulders. it's a little large on him, ren realises. the cuffs slip down an inch; it reminds him a little of futaba's oversized boyfriend hoodies despite her not having an actual boyfriend who resides in said hoodies. the thought comes and goes when the young man closes his eyes, and ren takes a moment to observe him.
where, huh. ]
The ass-crack of human consciousness. [ ren responds on automatic, and then realises, belatedly, that he doesn't actually want to explain what an ass-crack is to someone who might not remember what an ass-crack is. but how do you explain mementos? he thinks on this for a moment. ] It's a place called mementos. The explanation is sort of long, but the gist of it is that you're not really in reality.
[ Something warm settles over his shoulders, offering a comforting weight that wraps around him. Only then does he realize that, yes, it is rather chilly in here, as though his physical body has yet to recall how to regulate its own temperature. That's something humans could do on their own, wasn't it? It stands to reason that his own would start doing that in time again, perhaps.
It's too late for Ren. The boy is already registering his initial response. Fortunately, his mind moves on and -- no, the term "mementos" doesn't sound familiar at all, albeit he can't recall much of anything at the moment. But at the news that he is not in reality, the boy exhales, perhaps taking this news surprisingly well.
Somehow, he knows he should not exist in reality anymore anyways.
He's being asked another question. Trying to respond is the least he can do for this person. The cogs in his brain slowly begin to churn, trying desperately to shake themselves free of rust. The gears creak and their edges catch on each other, and no matter how hard he tries to set them in motion, they refuse to budge. ]
...don't know.
[ The words come out tired and disappointed, wishing he could give a proper answer. It's why the boy tries again to delve into the chasm where his memories should lie. He reaches out cautiously, with one hand, sinking his fingers into that darkness. He thinks he can recall something -- cherry blossoms, a door, --
But then it all slips away as his head begins to throb. He gasps in agony, doubling over and grasping at his head with both hands. He wants to answer, wants to remember what remains of his spotty memories, even if reaching into the recesses of his mind triggers those excruciating headaches.
It's too much, and he ultimately decides nothing will come from forcing himself to keep reaching into that black hole over and over again. He's trembling like a leaf battered by the whims of a tempest's winds again, hands still clutching at his head. ]
[ aaaand that progress is backsliding. the panic comes as a faraway thought. there's something about having perpetually lived your past year on the edge of a knife's point that's trained ren to make his panic work for him. his hands immediately reach out on their own accord, red-gloved hands against blue. this guy, he thinks, doesn't need less harm - he needs something that ren can't quite give him. closure, identity, something to hold onto. and when you don't have that for yourself -
well, someone has to give you something to hold onto, right?
ren pulls the young man into an embrace. the akechi in the back of his head informs ren that if ren gets stabbed or pulverised by, he doesn't know, some kind of a biological space laser, he'd deserve it for being so stupid, but ren argues that anyone with a working conscience who sees suffering like this wouldn't be able to help themselves. this is real. ren remembers what it's like. there had been a darkened room, a needle, and a single, raised gun. ]
Nah, don't worry about it. ... or, well, do worry about it, but not about apologising. You're doing good. [ a small laugh. ] Losing your memories is apparently a Mementos special, anyway. I have a cat - or I used to have a cat, and he lost his memories here too.
[ The boy learns something new during his limited time of existence. There's a hand against his head as he's pulled into Ren's arms. He learns that the arms of another person are far warmer than a coat. Slowly but surely, the trembling fades as he leans his forehead against Ren's shoulder, one of his own hands lowering to grasp at the bottom of the teen's gray vest.
It seems even amnesia cannot erase the part of a person that instinctively relaxes at physical contact when it's from someone who makes them feel safe. Within this unknown, the dark-haired teen before him is something solid, something definite he can cling to.
There are a handful of things that the boy thinks he knows for sure: there's nothing he needs to apologize for; he's apparently doing fine; and he doesn't really want to let go of this newfound haven he's found in Ren. ]
...maybe.
[ He doesn't... think he was a cat? Not that there's any way to know for sure.
Reluctantly, he pulls away a bit to look up at the teen and inspects the other's features. Dark hair, a white mask obscuring his face -- no, none of this looks familiar to him. He swallows a bit as a sinking feeling settles in his stomach. Somehow, the fact that this person is definitely a stranger only confirms the fact that maybe he shouldn't be here.
For some reason, he thinks he should be alone. For some reason, he thinks he should be someplace where not a soul stirs outside of his own. ]
...I -- I think you should leave me.
[ It's the most he's managed to get out because those words need to be said urgently. Yet, they come out weak and afraid, from a frail body that can barely sit upright. The boy hasn't noticed it yet, but perhaps Ren's more sensitive to it, the fact that his presence is faint like a freshly-born soul. ]
[ the trembling is fading. or, ren thinks, he thinks it's fading. it's difficult to tell in the gloom and the dark, in the way the young man's breath still shudders with the errant mementos wind. maybe it's because ren wants the young man to be fine. the world's wishes were being granted nilly-willy above-ground, he thinks, with some measure of sardonicism and no little bitterness: why couldn't this be just another figment of ren's apparent imagination? akechi was the by-product of the first, but ren knows he can't save him. not as the way he is. it would be absolutely fantastic if this young man were another figment of ren's imagination, which means ren needs to sit back and look at himself long and hard after this to figure out just what is wrong with him and his incessant need to play hero when people least want it.
but he can't let him go. or rather, ren has resolved not to let him go. it's an entire distilled moment of eternity before the young man is still in ren's arms, when the trembling ceases and ren can feel the outline of his warmth and the curl of his fingers. there, he thinks. there. he's going to be okay. he's going to have to be okay.
maybe, he says. ren's smile curves along his shoulder, a felt, laughing thing.
the young man pulls away long enough to examine ren. ren takes a breath and lets him. blue hair, eyes like a midnight chord, thin in a way that would have sakura-san (the big one, not the little one) huff and gruff and shove a container of curry his way. oh, right, ren thinks - but before he can act on that thought, what comes next is so unexpected that it takes a moment to parse. i think you should leave me, the young man says, and what comes out of ren's mouth is pure, unadulterated instinct, mouth before mind: ]
Nah. [ just nah. a hundred percent nah. ren gently shifts the young man against him. his voice is a thin little thing, weak with something that ren can only identify as, well, fear - but ren has a solid shoulder that the young man can rest on, and he's only shifting him long enough to plunge his hand into his duffel.
he adds, just in case it wasn't clear enough: ] Not to be flippant or anything, but I think neither of us really know what's going on right now, so what you think we should do or I think we should do is all based on gut. As much as I like deciding things on gut, I think we should take a little longer to think things through.
Besides - [ out from within the chaotic confines of his duffel comes a container. ren gives it a shake, then opens it. the scent of fresh curry wafts. his brows quirk: ] you don't know the way I work. I have a policy. The policy is that I don't leave anyone behind.
[ not anymore. ]
Hang on if you're about to argue with me, though. I have a question first: you like curry?
[ The rejection is swift. The certainty behind that single syllable cuts through the silence like a knife. It leaves the boy blinking, as if physically dazed by how fast he'd been shot down. And because he doesn't have the energy to argue, he merely exhales, shoulders sagging as he sighs.
Something in the back of his head tells him he should comply. Something there tells him this isn't the first time people were reluctant to let him go, and because he doesn't think it's the first time, he yields to the other's will. The rationale behind the masked one's response is perfectly reasonable. Maybe he's right. Maybe they should think things through a little longer.
Those words continue swimming in his head. "I don't leave anyone behind." Where has he heard that phrase before? Was it something he'd said in the past? Something someone else had said to him? Perhaps they'd never been spoken into existence, merely manifesting as a sentiment.
The boy leans forward again, this time resting his chin on a solid shoulder. He's still exhausted, as though the mere act of existing were rapidly consuming what little stores of energy he possessed. In fact, he nearly drifts off to sleep again, only rousing himself from that temptation when the stranger poses a question. ]
...don't know.
[ It's those same words all over again. It sends a pang of guilt through him, fervently wishing he could offer more useful responses. But it's true. He can't recall anything, let alone whether or not he had a favorite food, or even whether he'd ever eaten anything in the past. ]
I don't remember.
[ But then comes the fragrant scent of freshly-cooked curry, the smell immediately fleeing from its container when the lid is cracked open. The boy blinks, mouth watering at the scent of food. He swallows, his stomach growling in a wordless demand for the curry.
This feeling -- it's hunger, a sure sign that he is, indeed, a being who is living and breathing. ]
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no subject
whatever that ren tells himself to stay sane aside, the newly changed mementos is subtle, difficult to place. if ren had to describe it, it's that the underlying despair is quieter, the weight of human cognition as a whole lighter. he doesn't like the fact that it feels weird that mankind's happier now. that's what it is. ren isn't exactly the foremost scholar on this sort of thing, but if people think that trauma hasn't happened to them because, say, your therapist decided to discard their reality and superimpose his own kicking and screaming onto them, it stands to reason that people are just happier.
ren is no happier knowing this. mementos squelches beneath his feet, the phantom ghostly wind billowing past him whispering of secrets in languages that haven't been invented yet, and ren sets off to discover the undiscoverable.
miles of track seem unfathomably long without the mona-car. perhaps part of the weirdness of mementos right now stems from the fact that ren's never been down here alone. he pads his way down a set of escalators and follows the pale red veins towards the shuttered end of a line that never once existed in human cognition. the ground is warm. it's hard to discern how he knows this, but ren has ever been mastered by his instincts. if he took some time to think about it, a kinder reality is a warmer reality, one closer to the beating heart of humanity that runs on kinder stories, but what this is telling ren is that he couldn't be on the wrong path, even though he's not quite certain where the right path should lead. instinct takes him three more turns that gets him to the glowing, pale-lit turnstiles that line the newest set of escalators still-gleaming in the pale pink light. the realisation comes that he knows precisely where this leads. people had been caged here; many people had been caged here. this had been where the holy grail had sat, glutton on the enslaved souls of the subjugated. ren pads down the escalators and supposes to himself that if anything were to be found here, it might as well be here. the important things in life were always buried in the deepest recesses of human consciousness. it was how that stupid genocidal stewpot managed to turn everyone into mushy red rain the first time around, and he'd be damned if maruki didn't tap into the same tried and true method because - and this is a real thought that's just flit into his headL how many other methods can there to subjugate humanity?
too many, satan laughs, and ren tells him, wryly, to shut up and let him monologue.
his thoughts are disrupted as he descends the next set of escalators, stepping foot into the heart of mementos. he's not alone, he realises. he realises this the same way that birds know the name of the incoming storm. the shift in the air is like the sweep of a blade; the stale, congealed air that pools at the bottom of the human condition takes on the faint tinge of blood. immediately, ren's knife is in his hand as he surveys what looks to be someone humanoid. at this distance, it's hard to see if they have a mask on, or if they're dripping blood, gore and shadow ooze, but the fact that they're where the holy grail once stood can't be a coincidence. at this distance, however, ren knows that if he has spotted the person, the person has spotted them back. look unto the abyss and the abyss gazes back, he thinks, and satan informs him with undue patience - you're using the phrase wrong, fool. ren doesn't laugh, but he does twirl his knife.
the smart part of him thinks he should call out a neutral 'hey'. instead, the smartass part of him offers a neutral: ]
Marco.
no subject
The person rubs at an eye as footsteps approach, reverberating off the walls. Should he be afraid? Concerned? There's nothing though, only that very same abyss, like the one swirling about where his memories should lie.
He should respond to whoever's calling to him. He thinks he would like to do that. Instead, the boy remains silent and turns his head in Ren's direction. Perhaps he's forgotten to speak. Perhaps he does not know how to. It seems that miniscule action exhausts what remains of his energy. He trembles with the effort of trying to keep himself upright before finally giving in, slumping to the ground on his side. He thinks he should get back up, but he finds he cannot recall how, limbs uncooperative even as he wills them to move.
...tired.
He could fall back asleep like this, oblivious to the exhausted shadows beneath his eyes. ]
no subject
the thought comes late. what comes first: ren in motion, a streak of matte black against the roiling red of human cognition. he catches the slumping figure just in time. ren has no idea whether shadows can sustain head injuries. if he had to defend his actions to akechi, he might posit that if this slumping figure is the only living thing that he's found in the asscrack of human cognition, it stands to reason that he shouldn't allow it to sustain a head injury before he's had a chance to ask it some pointed questions. but the truth between himself and satan: there was something human about the way that the figure had slumped, and that had always been enough for ren.
so he catches it - him, ren realises, blue hair spilt over the red suede of ren's gloves. he's lighter than he looks, entirely solid in ren's arms, and eyes lidded the way sleepwalkers do. ren nearly laughs beneath his breath as he shifts his centre of gravity to accommodate the both of them. ]
Alright. Not awake enough for polo. We can try some other time. You alright? Human? [ look, sometimes you have to ask. ]
no subject
Someone's speaking to him. "Human?" What's that? Is that what he's supposed to be? The boy's eyes reopen, half-lidded and teetering on the edge of consciousness. He's being asked a question. He should respond. Speak. He should speak?
The sound that escapes his throat is somewhere between a wheeze and a rasp, as though he hadn't used his vocal cords in ages. But within the silence of the memento, he manages to squeeze out two words: ]
...don't know.
[ There's another shudder as the air's temperature suddenly plunged to the negatives. It's all the same though, and instead, he shivers as his sluggish mind finally catches up with his physical senses. There's a person here leaning his weight against themselves. And though he can't recall, he thinks it's been awhile since he was last acquainted with another person's touch. ]
no subject
more importantly: this isn't the first time mementos has spat out someone without memories. there are no coincidences in the ass-crack of human consciousness. ren thinks: jackpot. ]
Hey. It's okay. [ spoilers: it is not okay. ren doesn't think there's any situation where waking up in what amounts to a dungeon that sometimes bleeds on you without your memories and probably a core part of your motor skills is okay, but saying otherwise isn't going to help the situation. he props up the the young man in one arm as he works his jacket off with the other, ] Sort of okay. At least you know that you don't know. That's a start. Can you sit up a little for me? I'm strong, but my arm's going to fall asleep if we stay like this.
no subject
If only he could recall how to do so.
Instead, the boy shifts a bit in Ren's arms, carefully laying a palm on the floor. He uses it to brace himself, his own arm shaking a bit at the effort of supporting his own weight. It's strange, working through all the fine motor processes required for an action that he thinks he recalls being automatic. Perhaps he would be frustrated, if he could remember that particular feeling.
He's sitting upright again though leans his weight against Ren. His eyes drift shut again as the room spins, lightheaded, as if he'd stood up too fast. And as he feels the room slowly return to stasis, he manages to croak out another syllable: ]
...where...?
[ Where was he? That seems to be a more important question over "who" was he. ]
no subject
ren is patient as the young man takes his time, and then, when he's just about tipped upright, he shuffles back in place and takes off the rest of his jacket. this, he slings over the young man's shoulders. it's a little large on him, ren realises. the cuffs slip down an inch; it reminds him a little of futaba's oversized boyfriend hoodies despite her not having an actual boyfriend who resides in said hoodies. the thought comes and goes when the young man closes his eyes, and ren takes a moment to observe him.
where, huh. ]
The ass-crack of human consciousness. [ ren responds on automatic, and then realises, belatedly, that he doesn't actually want to explain what an ass-crack is to someone who might not remember what an ass-crack is. but how do you explain mementos? he thinks on this for a moment. ] It's a place called mementos. The explanation is sort of long, but the gist of it is that you're not really in reality.
[ ... ] Where do you think you're supposed to be?
no subject
It's too late for Ren. The boy is already registering his initial response. Fortunately, his mind moves on and -- no, the term "mementos" doesn't sound familiar at all, albeit he can't recall much of anything at the moment. But at the news that he is not in reality, the boy exhales, perhaps taking this news surprisingly well.
Somehow, he knows he should not exist in reality anymore anyways.
He's being asked another question. Trying to respond is the least he can do for this person. The cogs in his brain slowly begin to churn, trying desperately to shake themselves free of rust. The gears creak and their edges catch on each other, and no matter how hard he tries to set them in motion, they refuse to budge. ]
...don't know.
[ The words come out tired and disappointed, wishing he could give a proper answer. It's why the boy tries again to delve into the chasm where his memories should lie. He reaches out cautiously, with one hand, sinking his fingers into that darkness. He thinks he can recall something -- cherry blossoms, a door, --
But then it all slips away as his head begins to throb. He gasps in agony, doubling over and grasping at his head with both hands. He wants to answer, wants to remember what remains of his spotty memories, even if reaching into the recesses of his mind triggers those excruciating headaches.
It's too much, and he ultimately decides nothing will come from forcing himself to keep reaching into that black hole over and over again. He's trembling like a leaf battered by the whims of a tempest's winds again, hands still clutching at his head. ]
Don't know... ...sorry.
no subject
well, someone has to give you something to hold onto, right?
ren pulls the young man into an embrace. the akechi in the back of his head informs ren that if ren gets stabbed or pulverised by, he doesn't know, some kind of a biological
space laser, he'd deserve it for being so stupid, but ren argues that anyone with a working conscience who sees suffering like this wouldn't be able to help themselves. this is real. ren remembers what it's like. there had been a darkened room, a needle, and a single, raised gun. ]
Nah, don't worry about it. ... or, well, do worry about it, but not about apologising. You're doing good. [ a small laugh. ] Losing your memories is apparently a Mementos special, anyway. I have a cat - or I used to have a cat, and he lost his memories here too.
Maybe you'll remember that you were once a cat?
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It seems even amnesia cannot erase the part of a person that instinctively relaxes at physical contact when it's from someone who makes them feel safe. Within this unknown, the dark-haired teen before him is something solid, something definite he can cling to.
There are a handful of things that the boy thinks he knows for sure: there's nothing he needs to apologize for; he's apparently doing fine; and he doesn't really want to let go of this newfound haven he's found in Ren. ]
...maybe.
[ He doesn't... think he was a cat? Not that there's any way to know for sure.
Reluctantly, he pulls away a bit to look up at the teen and inspects the other's features. Dark hair, a white mask obscuring his face -- no, none of this looks familiar to him. He swallows a bit as a sinking feeling settles in his stomach. Somehow, the fact that this person is definitely a stranger only confirms the fact that maybe he shouldn't be here.
For some reason, he thinks he should be alone. For some reason, he thinks he should be someplace where not a soul stirs outside of his own. ]
...I -- I think you should leave me.
[ It's the most he's managed to get out because those words need to be said urgently. Yet, they come out weak and afraid, from a frail body that can barely sit upright. The boy hasn't noticed it yet, but perhaps Ren's more sensitive to it, the fact that his presence is faint like a freshly-born soul. ]
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but he can't let him go. or rather, ren has resolved not to let him go. it's an entire distilled moment of eternity before the young man is still in ren's arms, when the trembling ceases and ren can feel the outline of his warmth and the curl of his fingers. there, he thinks. there. he's going to be okay. he's going to have to be okay.
maybe, he says. ren's smile curves along his shoulder, a felt, laughing thing.
the young man pulls away long enough to examine ren. ren takes a breath and lets him. blue hair, eyes like a midnight chord, thin in a way that would have sakura-san (the big one, not the little one) huff and gruff and shove a container of curry his way. oh, right, ren thinks - but before he can act on that thought, what comes next is so unexpected that it takes a moment to parse. i think you should leave me, the young man says, and what comes out of ren's mouth is pure, unadulterated instinct, mouth before mind: ]
Nah. [ just nah. a hundred percent nah. ren gently shifts the young man against him. his voice is a thin little thing, weak with something that ren can only identify as, well, fear - but ren has a solid shoulder that the young man can rest on, and he's only shifting him long enough to plunge his hand into his duffel.
he adds, just in case it wasn't clear enough: ] Not to be flippant or anything, but I think neither of us really know what's going on right now, so what you think we should do or I think we should do is all based on gut. As much as I like deciding things on gut, I think we should take a little longer to think things through.
Besides - [ out from within the chaotic confines of his duffel comes a container. ren gives it a shake, then opens it. the scent of fresh curry wafts. his brows quirk: ] you don't know the way I work. I have a policy. The policy is that I don't leave anyone behind.
[ not anymore. ]
Hang on if you're about to argue with me, though. I have a question first: you like curry?
guess who started playing p5r...
Something in the back of his head tells him he should comply. Something there tells him this isn't the first time people were reluctant to let him go, and because he doesn't think it's the first time, he yields to the other's will. The rationale behind the masked one's response is perfectly reasonable. Maybe he's right. Maybe they should think things through a little longer.
Those words continue swimming in his head. "I don't leave anyone behind." Where has he heard that phrase before? Was it something he'd said in the past? Something someone else had said to him? Perhaps they'd never been spoken into existence, merely manifesting as a sentiment.
The boy leans forward again, this time resting his chin on a solid shoulder. He's still exhausted, as though the mere act of existing were rapidly consuming what little stores of energy he possessed. In fact, he nearly drifts off to sleep again, only rousing himself from that temptation when the stranger poses a question. ]
...don't know.
[ It's those same words all over again. It sends a pang of guilt through him, fervently wishing he could offer more useful responses. But it's true. He can't recall anything, let alone whether or not he had a favorite food, or even whether he'd ever eaten anything in the past. ]
I don't remember.
[ But then comes the fragrant scent of freshly-cooked curry, the smell immediately fleeing from its container when the lid is cracked open. The boy blinks, mouth watering at the scent of food. He swallows, his stomach growling in a wordless demand for the curry.
This feeling -- it's hunger, a sure sign that he is, indeed, a being who is living and breathing. ]
...is that curry?