[ The dim 'thump' of a body striking the ground next to him is barely enough to rouse him from the cycle of memories-lives-experiences that cascade through his unprotected mind; he can't ever sleep, can't allow his mind to wander without rapidly losing sight of the immediate "him" — the space, time, sense of self and consciousness fading from the forefront of his mind the moment he's not actively thinking about the here-and-now. It takes forever to drag himself back from the depths of his mind.

Under Hiiro's fingers, his pulse is a nightmarishly fast flutter. A heart pounding so fast that it might be close to giving out, if not for the shivering breaths that the boy takes. Again, and again, as he hums and sings and mutters to himself in a variety of languages, until finally, finally: ] I can't decide what to wear for the party tonight.

[ Wait. ]

— what party? [ Oh. ] I won't have a good time, no matter what I wea— [ Ah.

His eyes, dark and glassy, focus a little. Be a child, be a child, Yuca: ] Who are you? I don't know where I am.