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"Young Master?" Flins calls out worryingly as Illuga's distant figure approaches with the mindlessness of someone not present.
Illuga does not return his call, nor does he seem to recognise that he's being called. If anything, it seems that the boy is going through the motions; trudging through the heavy dampened sand, walking uphill to Flins' abode. Hell, he doesn't even seem to be bothered by the unfortunate soaking his pants go through after wading thigh-deep waters just to reach Flins' shore.
"Young Master, oh my beloved Master, are you here?" Flins calls gently once Illuga is in his grasp, cradling his face gently, hoping, beckoning the boy to come back and see him. To be in the present with him. "Are you here with me?”
Not a flicker of recognition in his eyes, but his mouth opens anyways and he readies himself to speak, taking in a shaky, almost unsteady breath to piece himself back together. "Mr Flins, I've brought your supplies for this period." He blinks but it is more methodical; in remembrance of information he's fishing out of his scattered brain. "I'm sorry that it's late." I'm sorry that I'm late.
"But you're here now, my dear Young Master." Flins reasons, but Illuga is long gone again, secluded back into the depths of his own mind. "Come."
Flins sets the stage while Illuga steps onto it with practiced ease; two waters on the table just for him, and a Flins waiting for him to patiently make landfall with him.
Unfortunately, Illuga does not follow the script. He does not shake his head and insist for Flins to not waste his time hosting Illuga, he does not make an effort to run away from Flins' hospitality, nor does he keel over into Flins' awaiting arms.
He stands there frozen in front of the stage, unable to begin their usual script. Flins frowns as he peers deep into Illuga's red ringed blue eyes; he cannot find him in the depths of them.
So, Flins does what he does best; he guides. He uses his spirit to light a small blue flame, and lets it lick his palm.
Illuga startles, blinks a few times to centre himself, before his face resolves into caution. "Ah, Flins! You- you're on fire!"
But Flins doesn't seem to care; if anything, he smiles. The cute image of his Young Master worrying about him, finally paying him attention instead of dwelling in his thoughts; how could Flins not smile at that?
"Ah, my dear Young Master, my lovely Illuga," Flins coos, delighted with Illuga's eyes on him, "I'm most pleased to see that my flame can guide you back to me. Welcome back to the realm of living, my dearest light."
He cradles his hands around Illuga's face once more, clamping down Illuga's flinch when his flame makes contact with his cheek, only for his heart to melt when Illuga leans into the touch and lets the cool fire eat away at his round cheeks.