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"Hey."
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"Don't ignore me, you sap cretin."
"..?"
"...Good grief."
My vision was blurry as I awoke. And when I came to, I saw a man with long silver hair and red eyes, sitting by the bedside.
Don Quixote snickered, "Finally, you've awoken. I was beginning to wonder if you actually passed." he paused, before bringing out a small takeaway box. "I found this on a denizen of the city outside, have it if you will." He left it on the table beside me before leaving.
Ah, what happened? Oh, right.
[A few days ago...]
*beep*
To Rien,
Starve yourself for a week.
[present]
Oh, so that's what happened.
Slowly, I got up from the bed. Hunger tore through me as I did. That week of starving really did a lot on me, huh?
I looked to the table by my bed, the takeaway box on it. To my surprise, the food inside was actually edible. Don Quixote had provisioned me with actual sustenance? Now, this was uncalled for.
I took the box, which already had a fpoon in it. I took a bite, and it tasted stale, but also flavourful if that made sense.
Hah..... As I ate, I begun to ponder. Don Quixote wouldn't have any real reason to help me, no? Hum.. But maybe taking him out on that prescript lightened his mood a little. If so, I guess he'd consider me his acquaintance, hence he lent me a hand. How generous of him, I'll remember that.
I got from the bed, and went out the bedroom. Don Quixote, like always, was stationed by the couch. He didn't even spare me a glance, as if he'd never done that kind gesture earlier.
Though, I think I saw him glance at me for a split second.
*beep*
To Rien, nourish yourself.
Never mind that, I have better things to do.
༻⌑༈܀༈⌑༺
Returning to my place of residency, Don Quixote seemed to be discreetly analysing me, his gaze landing on the pager in my breast pocket.
*beep*
I tittered, "Curious about this?" I tapped the pager, Don Quixote turned away. *beep* "It's simply where I receive my prescripts." I added. Don Quixote unobtrusively looked at me.
Neither of us were really the best conversation starters, considering we didn't even know one another that well.
*beep* So the prescript says.
"Would you like to converse?" I asked simply, Don Quixote lowered the book in his hands, heeding my words.
Don Quixote's eyebrows raised for a fraction. "... Ha. Fain, then."
༻⌑༈܀༈⌑༺
As time passed, Don Quixote seemed to have gotten slightly more comfortable around me, even being a tad bit chattier than when we initially met. I'd wager it's because it was an actual conversation instead of a very held back remark.
Soon upon becoming closer associates, he would sometimes greet me on mornings and so. I guess we've bonded a little closer.
I opened the door back to my residence after a prescript. And today, a voice had greet me. "Welcome back. How was it?" Don Quixote would ask from time to time, usually when it took longer than normal prescripts. He would sometimes ask what transpired in the prescripts. "It was alright, like the usual ones. Nothing too absurd."
"Hm." Don Quixote huffed before continuing reading.
For some time we've been acquainted, I've "strange". Something I haven't felt. Not in a long time, at least. I think I've felt it before, but I'm not sure. I looked at my own reflection in the mirror, somewhat, I abhorred it. Though it wasn't a strong and obvious hate, it was more of loathing the way I was. I couldn't help this feeling whenever I saw a reflection of myself. But still, sometimes I find myself looking at my reflection, as if I'm thinking or waiting for something. I never knew what it was or why, because it never came.
I placed a hand to my chest over the pager, where my heart was, more precisely- where I could feel my heartbeat, to know I was still alive, to prove I was still alive. Thankfully, it still beat like any normal heart ever would.
Symbolic, isn't it? the very thing that controls my life is placed over the organ of where my desire originates.
I looked at the mirror again, that spiteful face looked back at me in the same expression I had.
"Hah." I scoffed. I took in a deep breath as I ran my hand through my hair, a smile found its way to my face.
Not wasting any time on whathefuckever I was doing, I simply left the room.
"Hey." Don Quixote suddenly called, "Yes?"
Don Quixote glared at me right in my eyes and outrightedly said: "I want to talk."
*beep* I acknowledged his request. "Okay."
༻⌑༈܀༈⌑༺
"Let's." I sat across him, one leg over the other.
Don Quixote wasted no time hesitating. "Why do you do this?"
It was more straightforward than I'd anticipated. Though a bit cryptid, my dealings with the prescripts have trained me to know what vague sentences mean. I don't know what to say to him, as I highly doubt there'd be an appropriate answer to this if I told the truth. In this predicament, the pager would sound out a script, but this time it didn't. I don't know if it wanted me to formulate my own answer or whatever, but in the sense that there was a psychological barrier preventing me from doing so- I didn't have an answer for that.
I smiled. "I don't have an answer for that."
"Pardon?"
"I don't have an answer for that. Or more likely, I don't have an appropriate answer for that question."
"..." One of Don Quixote's eyes twitched for a moment.
This silence was deafening, and a tense atmosphere grew around us.
"If this is your attempt at being droll, it's very bad."
"Well..." I thought for a moment. "I know this answer will probably irritate you more, but I could tell you, but I don't know how to phrase it without accidentally provoking you."
"..oh."
༻⌑༈܀༈⌑༺
After somehow worming my way out of that intensely awkward conversation(if you could call it that), he left me for the time being.
Still, I didn't know what to make of that odd sensation whilst looking at my reflection moments ago.
Maybe I'll find out soon, or maybe not. Hermes knows.