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Louis always said that you both were special. He spoke like he knew it all—like he saw the whole world in the fire that burned your village down. He said you were the only normal ones left.

For the longest time, it felt like fact.

Louis paces in the empty meeting room in his skyrunner, as if trying to give you the impression that his facts remained true. His boots tap against the floor in a perfect yet slow 2:3 polyrhythm. You stand nearby, arms folded.

“I’m almost there. Yes, I’m almost there. I could see how the street paripus looked at me.” Louis murmurs to himself. His eyes flick towards you again. “You were observing the crowd, yes?”

Someone like him could never be described with metaphors or similes—only antonyms. He wasn’t hesitant, nor reckless, nor turbulent. Only himself, like when you were both kids. Elda. That’s why he still bothers letting you join him in restricted areas, and tries not to scold you too harshly when you call him Charadrius.