When Oswald learned they didn’t actually know how to read, it baffled him. He hadn’t believed it at first. They understood the signs around them, didn’t they? But the more he thought about it, the more he understood. They weren’t reading; they had simply memorized the signs. They didn’t actually know what they were saying.

So, there he was. He sat on the couch, watching them struggle through the words on the page. He couldn’t exactly blame them for now knowing how to read, nor did he belittle them. The second he understood, he’d decided to sit them down with a book. Not like he had anything better to do.