“ no harm done in fixing up a little bit , ” it felt nice seeing him in freshly changed clothes , after all . the girl couldn’t help but dote on him ; even if they’re the same height , even if it’s just a little , more or less listening to Dr. Kal’tsit’s advice of being kind to him but it was supposed to be the average decency . bare minimum .
she can feel the amnesiac’s vague nostalgia at this gesture , a faint probe at his memories akin to her brushing off his shoulder . Amiya is used to the moment’s confusion , as it matched the doctor’s own attitude at times . a deja vu you cannot explain , not yet . the past has yet to come back to him .
“ the jacket looks a lot nicer on you like this too , even if its a oversized , you can still style it nicely with your clothes . ” maybe next time she can ask him if she could repair its holes . ( and maybe repair parts of themselves . ) she could teach him , too . ( the delicate way to take care of things . maybe he won’t forget this time in , this harsh world . )
another way to take care of himself , too . but one step at a time .
“ are you hungry ? since the weather today was colder than usual , the mess hall made stew as the main meal . we can go together if you want . ”
once amiya’s done, he looks at his coat. nostalgia brushing up against his mind is an apt way of putting it. it’s there, right against the surface, but painful. a steady block, as though a warning, telling him not to ask, to evade knowledge he’d normally seek.
worst of all, he allows it.
he lets her her comment stay at the surface, be nothing more than just surface words, and the base acknowledgement that this ratty, old jacket means something to him. which it does, which is why it’ll never leave his sight for long, which is why he’s prone to panic without it and drags the thing everywhere like a security blanket.
he doesn’t even notice the holes - at least, not until she mentions it - and he does thing about getting it fixed. it feels familiar, the stitching on parts of it, all of it, feels and looks familiar to him. he’s sure he’s done some of it himself, but there’s a quality to a lot of it that’s sure to reflect another’s handiwork.
it mollifies him for a moment, and he picks at one of the holes. ‘ ... that would be nice, ‘ he says, far more subdued than he had been moments ago.
then he looks up ( just a little! ) at amiya, blinking once at the sudden change. he can’t recall the last time they ate, but it’s only because there’s no clock around. things are kept on a schedule for someone like him, still on observation. different from that woman who everyone so openly sneers.
he thinks about it a little more, then gives a nod.
‘ stew sounds fitting. ’ he doesn’t confirm whether or not he wants her around for meals. for one thing, it should be obvious. two, even without his memories, the liberi boy still had his pride. however, he does say one thing to make his wants obvious: ‘ let’s go. ’
