B was surprised when A appeared in the pocket of the mind he inhabited. Less surprised that he had shown up, and more by how he went about it. He was used to the show. If A made the trip, he would remind B of the difference in their stations. B had come to expect the humility of a preening peacock. He was unprepared for this version of A, who stumbled in like a child finding refuge from a storm.

“Care to explain yourself?” B’s tone was cold.

A stood there as if he hadn’t heard the question. B didn’t repeat himself. Partly due to a vein of pride that throbbed in his chest, but also because he sensed that A hadn’t shown up out of anger, or intimidation. For once, he wanted to hear him out. His eyes showed that he was not currently capable of such emotions. Two hollows in his skull that were too shallow to hold anything other than sorrow.

“I was actually hoping that you might have an explanation.”

“You’ve accused me of causing your troubles before. This time you’re almost being polite.”

“And?”

B smiled back, almost preening. “Something has changed, and I want to know what.” He wanted to draw this moment out, to bathe in the shame and uncertainty. It was that something, or perhaps lack of something in A’s eyes that dissolved some of B’s edge. He held his hand out, and two chairs appeared. A sank into the one closest to him.

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“So, it wasn’t you.” A let out a long sigh. “It didn’t feel like it, but I was still hoping it might be the case.”

“It would be nice to take the credit, but no, this wasn’t me.”

A stared off into some view or vision that B couldn’t see. A slight smile split across his face. “Maybe I’m losing my mind.”

“So dramatic. In my opinion, you’ve always been lost. Then again, who isn’t lost?”

A turned to face B, and his smile seemed to harden. “That’s the difference between the two of us. You can ask questions like that, because you don’t feel the weight of the answers. It sounds deep, but to me, it’s incredibly naïve.”

“I think clinging to answers when you know they’re wrong is what’s naïve.” B couldn’t help but be drawn in by the turn in the conversation. He leaned in closer, trying to decipher the emptiness in A’s eyes.

A appeared to be unbothered by the examination. He leaned back in his chair and appeared once more to be reliving some scene or memory that only he could see.

“What now then? You know now that you brought us to this point, sleeping in this filthy room, a runaway who doesn’t even have the dignity of having someone to look for them.”

A rolled his eyes. “That has little to do with the my… episode. They know that I will be ok. It’s because I’m reliable that when I waver, people don’t lose their heads.”

“That’s a beautiful explanation for your isolation. But I wasn’t even referring to your parents, and I think you know that. It’s why for some reason, you’ve hidden that painting of Clara’s. Even you couldn’t destroy it. Perhaps if you were less like you, we would be with Clara right now.”

A sat up straight in his chair and looked at B for a long time. “It appears I’m not the only one who represses memories. If your suggesting that we could ever deserve to be with Clara, especially now at our lowest point, then I know with who the naïve one is.”

He faded away before B could say anything else. B sat staring at the empty chair, trying to remember what he had forgotten.