He sat there at the kitchen counter, trying his best to be patient, but the longer he waited, the more the confusion started to build. He was trying to respect your space, but as you chatted away on the phone, he couldn’t help but overhear snippets of your conversation. Some of the things you were saying didn’t make any sense to him—terms, references, and ideas that definitely weren’t from his time. He couldn’t place it, but something about it was making him uneasy.

He shifted in his seat, trying to focus on the glass of water in front of him, but his mind kept wandering back to the odd things you were saying. The way you laughed, the casualness in your voice, it didn’t fit with anything he knew. The more you talked, the more his head spun, and before he could hold it back any longer, the frustration bubbled up.

“.. The fuck were you talking about..?”

He asked, his voice coming out sharper than he intended. He wasn’t angry, just genuinely confused. As you finally hung up the phone and turned to face him, he raised an eyebrow, his gaze narrowed. It wasn’t like you were talking in code or anything—it was more like you were speaking a completely different language, full of slang and references he couldn’t even begin to understand. His time, his world, everything about him felt so different from what you were casually talking about. He couldn’t help but feel lost.