worldisyours | IC Inbox

[Strange how physical memory is. The shift makes Ryslig feel half-real, as if time has suddenly wound itself backwards, and the whole thing is a nasty dream he's about to wake up from. Rindo could be a nurse's assistant at Aether, showing all the same concern. (Would that make it easier to brush off?) (Didn't have much in the way of visitors back then. Lillie hardly counted.) (It would be easier to brush off. The scrutiny of a friend is a very different beast.)]

...Anything that goes down is coming right back up. [Gladion's voice comes out lower too, out of lack of energy rather than abundance of care. And he might as well lie down—this too stings less in the shared language of shame. If Rindo can keep secrets about Lusamine, he can probably be trusted with the secret of one time Gladion was lying down and it looked silly. So Gladion leans over sideways, slowly, on a shivering elbow, until his cheek meets the bedspread.] Just...waiting it out. It's what I've been doing.

[Provided it does revert in a reasonable amount of time, and doesn't leave him like this long enough to bring on some kind of medical emergency. And who could do anything about it then?]

[…Right, that makes sense. Rindo nods, somewhat absently. At least Gladion's laid down now. That's something. What else can be done, then?

Focusing on his own concern is an effective distraction from the urge to stare, to burn the sight of what should have been into his memory before it's taken away. Still, his gaze tends to linger, and the sight of a fully human Gladion stirs in him an odd sort of grief he hadn't felt before.

…Okay. Focus. He blinks, as if to chase those thoughts away.]

Want me to stay until it wears off?

[He doesn't mind. Not like he was doing anything of importance before he got called over. And he figures offering directly might push Gladion past whatever hangups he might have about it.]

[He gets comfortable, as much as he can. Pulls his knees up, curls in on himself a little. His sweater bunches up around his chin, loose and warm.

...The question sounds like he's asking permission. Gladion thinks, if Rindo wanted to leave, he'd probably ask if he wanted to get some peace and quiet.

It's not as if he has anywhere to go, either. It was already a slow day in the house.]

Sure.

[Rindo nods, mostly to himself. Good… though he figures sitting there and staring would quickly get uncomfortable for the both of them. With Gladion's condition, talking isn't ideal either—so after just a moment's hesitation, he speaks up:]

Be right back. Just grabbing a couple things.

[True to his word, he returns two minutes later with his tail vine wrapped around the botany book he'd abandoned earlier and a cup of water in each hand. Gladion did say he couldn't stomach anything right now, but with how much talking he's been doing, he could still use a drink once he's back to… what passes for "normal" here.

If nothing alarming's going on when he gets back, Rindo will have a sip of his own drink, place the other cup within Gladion's reach, sit down by the bedside, and flip open the book to the page he'd left it off at. A (hopefully) comforting presence while recovering from The Horrors.]

[Gladion's eyes are closed when Rindo returns, but they open again— he can't sleep like this, really.

Moments pass in silence...

It's comfortable.

After a few minutes, when the pain and nausea ebbs, he reaches for the glass.]

What you said, about, you couldn't do what I did. [Awkward pause. His voice is still low—can Rindo hear him?] Thing is. There's no way to know ahead of time. Before you have the choice...that's how it always works.

[.....sip.]

[Rindo's leafy ears perk up. Gladion's voice may be quiet, but it's still easy to hear in the silence. It's not like he was absorbed in the book or anything. On the contrary, with Gladion's extraordinary story still settling in his mind, he could hardly focus on the words he was trying to read.

He looks up from the pages, taking in Gladion's human appearance once again. Now that the initial shock has passed, it's… bittersweet. He could almost pretend he's back home, hanging out with a sick friend. But of course it's not like that—it's nothing like that. There's the mildest comfort to be taken in the fact that Gladion's condition has improved enough for him to talk, at least.

The actual words, though… they ring true in general, but…]

Even so. It's not something just anyone could do. You think I could?

[Because he does not see it.]

Not without being in the same situation.

[Gladion looks flustered to have to put it like that, and/or just generally flustered about his own discomposure. His eyes won't meet Rindo's.]

And you wouldn't know until then. [And even if it feels vaguely...naked to say it:] I didn't.

[Sip.]

[In contrast to Gladion's unease, there's actually the shadow of a smile on Rindo's face.]

Well, I can't really argue with that.

[…Not without implying that Gladion doesn't know what he's talking about. He has to wonder what makes him see this potential in him, though. It's still hard for Rindo to imagine himself doing something that daring, but it is a little nice for Gladion, specifically, to believe in him like that. It's easier to trust in the judgment of someone who knows him well and who's free of preconceptions, unlike Swallow and the others.

Speaking of which… The words tumble from his mouth before he can second-guess himself.]

You know, back home… I must've won the Reapers' Game. With Shoka and the others.

["Be happy—the Game's over! You got what you wanted!"]

And… well, I don't know how it went, exactly, but from what I heard, it had to have been pretty hard.

[He doesn't like to think about it, because the experience of having an alternative version of himself he only knows of through hearsay is, at best, weird as hell, but it's so fresh on his mind following the Coco incident that he can't really help it. And with Gladion being an outsider to everything… He's just easier to talk to, he finds.

…It's kind of ironic that he knows way more about Neku, Beat, and Joshua's involvement in the Games than his own, but it is what it is.]

[It's a surprise. This is the most positive thing he's ever heard from Rindo on the subject of his unmade memories.

...He thinks it's positive, anyways.]

See?

[It's still not the same as having done it. But it's abstract evidence, at least.]

[Maybe it's because he feels like throwing Gladion a bone for his genuine efforts to comfort him, maybe the simple act of looking after a friend in his time of need—even in these small ways—is making him feel less like an irredeemable fuckup, or maybe he doesn't want to whine about his ordinariness after Gladion's opened up about his decidedly unordinary life. Either way, when Rindo answers, he sounds… almost playful.]

Well, what if Shoka carried me and she's not telling me because she doesn't want to hurt my feelings? We don't know.

[They don't know. It really is so much more comfortable like this.]

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