The momentary eye contact makes his skin crawl, avoidant gaze trailing to the documents.
… When was the last time he ate? He hadn’t thought about it in some time, but he didn’t 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 hungry.
"Ah, I wouldn’t want to intrude— I can get something down at the markets… But thank you."
"’They?’"
Oh, Archons… was he being dragged to some odd potluck? A grimace spreads before he can catch himself, but he plays along all the same.
Sighing, he takes the spot beside the other, hands settling in his lap. Ugh.
"I’m not very hungry. Waiting isn’t an issue, really…”
You keep appearing from thin air… Like some spirit stalking anyone who dares to sneeze.
"… You thought I died?"
Says the boy who disappeared for… a while. But in his defense—a round trip to the nation’s edge is difficult!
Staring down the other, a small crease in his brow.
“I thought you didn’t like stew…”
The question makes him tense, red eyes darting to the edge of the table—the wall, a chair. Anywhere that can hold his avoidance.
Unbearable as the silence is… uncertainty stirs, teeth catching his lower lip.
“Uh…”
Well. It’s not as if they can expel him—
“I thought the ruins in the south might -
As more and more voices fill the room, Zandik retreats inward. He picks at the corners of his nails, leg jittering with an incessant tap, tap, tap of his heel.
‘Friends’ (though, he’s not even sure if he can call the other that— acquaintances? Pity-filled strangers?) ought to endure for each other.
