[He is quiet when she speaks, and intends to listen to what all Mercy has to say about this person, her own blank ticket, but then she interrupts herself. Brushes the conversation off as nothing but the tricks of her own mind, and he is not -- offended, not for his own sake, or even Rem's, and yet ... he can't quite let that stand, can he? It would not be fair of him to presume to speak in the voice of this dearly beloved loss.]
I'm sorry, [he says again, and this time it really is a more direct, more personal apology] but I don't think I'm a figment of your imagination. If I were, I'd know your name, wouldn't I...?
[He imagines a creation of her own mind could bring her more comfort than he could, in this moment. He still barely understands the edges of the picture, all the details in the frame too blurred and vague to make out.]
finally slides back in here three weeks late with starbucks
I'm sorry, [he says again, and this time it really is a more direct, more personal apology] but I don't think I'm a figment of your imagination. If I were, I'd know your name, wouldn't I...?
[He imagines a creation of her own mind could bring her more comfort than he could, in this moment. He still barely understands the edges of the picture, all the details in the frame too blurred and vague to make out.]