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Summary
The wanderer found he couldn’t understand the point of monetary compensation when he had their form of exchange as it was. He slept on his boss’s couch and ate his food, so he worked. Nafis vehemently disagreed, firmly believing his labor to be inherently worth something.
He kept his gaze low as he removed his hat with one hand, making sure where their hands entwined never separated, before he looked up at him again with clearer eyes.
The dark hair was all wrong, the looming stature suffocating, and the startled look so unbecoming, but still he breathed in deeply before saying, “I feel like I could be doing more.”
Or, the wanderer before he regained his memories.