[ 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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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?