#q!eggs

He stared down at the cold, cobbled floor and touched it, wondering if the earth underneath it had any answers he didn't.

There's not a lot you can do if you're stuck playing the part of the clown. He'd learned that with time, and he's gotten better at feeling, he really has. It's just easier to make fun of a wound than bleeding out.

At the very least, he knew Cellbit understood. Jokes can only get you so far, and he'd always been better at understanding Roier's mindset than others, if you're not counting Jaiden. Before he even tried to explain his humor, which can sometimes cross lines out of clumsiness, Cellbit understood where it was all coming from, and that was more than he could ask for.

Still, Roier had to stand up and prepare for bed without having the chance to talk to Richarlyson about how the day went. He had to go to sleep without telling him a dumb story about his uncle coming back to eat him if he didn't shower, or singing to him the latest song he had stuck on his mind, or kissing his forehead goodnight.

It was muscle memory. Long term memory, because he doesn't frequent this place, but he found himself opening the door to an empty house and an empty bed with a warm kitchen, the stove on waiting for no one.

He smiled when he saw the pan, the memory of Leonarda putting a fried egg in it just to indulge his stories still fresh. He laid on the bed beside it and closed his eyes.

They'd be back. They came back once, they'd do it again. It was just this Island's commitment to breaking every spirit anyone had left. Roier's had been squished some time ago, so he could play his part until the others found peace.

It was no one's bussiness if he cared, if he cried because he missed his sister, or his son, or every kid that deserved better. It was no one's business if he cried for Bobby because empty beds were getting too familiar. Absolutely nobody's business, because no one deserve to know of his love and pain. That was for him to deal with.