Chapter Text
There was a striking familiarity about the man- kiffar?- in front of him.
He did not know why that was the case. Maybe that was simply how the world was, when one could not remember it. Familiarity found in the unknown.
All he knew was that this stranger was not the same species as his captors.
"Where are you from?" The dark-haired stranger asked him.
"I don't know," he hummed, because it was true in a sense. In reality, he came from a dark room in a stark white laboratory, but he figured that was not the best answer. "You?"
"Same here. I don't remember much of anything," the other admitted. "What's your name?"
That was something he had at least vaguely come to know over the last two weeks. He had spent a lot of time contemplating, trying to stir up old memories with nothing to truly grasp for except vague sensations. Of course, the contemplating was only during that first week, while the second was spent attempting to solidify a plan for what to do.
"My name is Kenobes... I think."
The stranger eyed him. "I'll just call you Obes."
That sounded achingly familiar, for reasons he did not know. Was it similar to former nicknames, perhaps? Was it something he had been called in the past?
He hummed. "Would you mind if I call you Lan?"
"No," the newly-named Lan told him. "I don't have any names I remember, so I'll use it."
"Lan and Obes," he mused. "Two amnesiacs with half a name, going on a journey."
It was like a joke being told. He remembered- someone joked about having only half a name. He did not know if it was because their name was related to the word, of if it was about their lack of surname.
He did not know who could have told him about such things.
"Who said it's a journey?" Lan protested, and Obes caught a stray thought about how it was unusual for them to protest things like excitement and adventure.
"Do you not want to remember who you were? Where you came from?" Obes asked. Because in his mind, there was snow gilded by the dying sun, and he needed to know where it came from.
Lan was quiet for a long moment, before he whispered, "I want to. I want to find my anemones."
"Anemones?"
"They're... flowers, I think. Red and white. There was... something about the symbolism. I don't know."
"We'll find your anemones," Obes told him. "And we can find my snowy sunset."
Lan tilted their head. "Well, it's now or never."
Silently, Obes agreed. His captors still lived, after all, and eventually they would look for him. He knew that much, at least.
And so the two of them walked along paved ground, and they whispered to each other of darkness and of things that were and could have been.