"Do you think...we are strong people?"
The question, uttered weirdly sweet from cloying lips, takes Ruggie by surprise. So much even, that he stares for a good second before he averts his gaze.
The first time this strange person talks to him after an hour and it's something so existential. But maybe that's one thing to expect from someone so close to losing themselves.
Eyes gazed upward as he takes in the stalwart blue of sky, Ruggie speaks.
"I'm pretty sure we are," he tries to not talk too formally—though something about him made the hyena alert, awkward. Like he is a blemish to be cleaned, as if it's a sacrilege to bask in the sweetness.
Weird.
"You have to be. To survive."
Awkward. So awkward. If Ruggie wasn't sitting cross-legged beside the person, he thinks he might be shuffling his feet.
"I don't really know what made you want to..." Caught up in his thoughts, he ruffles a hand through rarely combed hair. He does not notice it, but lavender eyes follow the action with a look of genuine adoration.
"But I s'pose if you feel stuck in a place and you can't breath but you still stay, that makes you strong. I think."
"You don't think it's foolish?"
"...why would it be foolish to live, senpai?"
Laughter. Soft, gentle, and coaxing, it teases his ears as it erupts like musical notes in the air. He sends Ruggie a smile, and the second year doesn't know why, but it felt like unlocking a box of sweets. He thinks he's being an idiot—what difference did it make? He's seen smiles before. But the lilt of that grin, the way it carved on smooth, perfect skin. Oh Great Sevens. There is something in that smile that snakes through his ribs and grabs hold of his heart, had it racing like feet through hot, savana roads and sun.
I don't get it. Geez, I don't get it at all.
"Have another one, kouhai!" A donut was unceremoniously shoved in his lips, dusting them with powdered sugar and a sweetness of memory. Still stunned, Ruggie watches as the confectionery dust smudges on purple robes.
What am I even doing here?
He takes a bite from the offered treat, straight from the hand of the Pomefiore senior he's only met because he was tempted by the idea of being understood for once—
He doesn't care. For now, he sees that senpai doesn't care about perfection or survival or living, all these philosophical questions Ruggie is always too preoccupied to think about.
“Someday, my prince will come...”
And then he sings, a lullaby. Taking in the last bite of the treat that is now in his hands, Ruggie feels his eyelids droop. Like they are teased by a magic spell of beckoning dreams, strange yet familiar.
Unique magic.
As he falls into the familiar comfort of black, Ruggie hopes Leona is still taking a nap.
