[ 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
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?
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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?