Disclaimer: I don't own Bravely Second, all rights to the owners.

The entrance is the front.

The dressing table is to the right of the front. Take three steps forward, then about five to the right.

To the left is the writing desk. Same movements, but move left rather than right.

Going straight to the back (ten steps) will find him the storage chests. They're up to knee height, so he has to rely on carefully feeling with his feet or awkwardly feeling around while bent over. It's better if he has boots on for that.

Walking straight to the back is not advised early in the morning. Sometimes he steps on Edea. She doesn't like that, probably. It's better to let Magnolia guide him around for… well the entire morning. He's liable to smack into someone if she doesn't. Tiz and Edea aren't consistent on when they wake up… or maybe he isn't. It's impossible to tell, he can't judge time.

Also, Magnolia will give him a head rub (technically she's applying shampoo) if he doesn't try to do his own thing in the morning, and he likes getting a head rub no matter how embarrassing it is. There's very little else to enjoy, so he'll take what he can get, even if it has to be a guilty pleasure.

The runes that control the tent are just inside the entrance to the left, not even a step away from the flap. He shouldn't touch those. Accidentally collapsing the tent on yourself and Edea is not fun, and Edea probably doesn't like that either.

His backpack is eight steps forward and three to the left of the entrance, and his bedroll is six steps forward and two to the left. Magnolia's bedroll is five and three. Edea's bedroll is six forward and one to the right, but sometimes just eight forward. Yew really wishes she'd move further to the right. Tiz is five and two. They don't even make a semi-circle, and it's slightly biased to the left.

Magnolia is usually to the right, not even a full step. It doesn't matter if he's in the tent or not, she's almost always there. He always makes sure to reach out just above hip height. He's grabbed her thigh one too many times for comfort, and he doesn't want her to think he's doing it intentionally. Reach too high and he ends up scratching her face or neck or grabbing her chest (he did that once, and pulled back his hand so fast he hurt his wrist) so waist height is the safest height to reach for. Worst case scenario there is that he pokes her in the stomach.

It's very important he remembers that.

If Magnolia isn't right next to him, he can clap his hands and she'll usually tap his shoulder a few moments later. He tries not to do that unless he really needs help with something. It feels like he's calling a servant, and Magnolia isn't a servant.

(He's the servant. He just carries the tent.)

Knowing the layout of the tent allows Yew to handle himself in the evening, after camp has been set. As long as he doesn't have to go outside, because the camp layout is never the same, he can find his way around. Granted, every time he wants to get somewhere else he usually returns to the front of the tent which probably looks very strange as he walks from the desk to the entrance to his bag to the entrance again and only then back to desk, rather than just going from the desk to his pack then back to the desk, but he tends to get lost if he tries to do that and inevitably bumps into something.

Yew has also discovered what he can do on his own in his condition. It's a very small list, but it's a list. He can: dress himself (thankfully), eat by himself (usually), brush his own teeth and clean himself (thank the crystals), do dishes (poorly, but he can) and… that's really it. There's not many other tasks to do, and he certainly can't tend the fire, cook, hunt, set up the tent, or do laundry.

Well, he can probably do laundry, but every time he tries someone stops him. They've mostly stopped him from doing the dishes too.

(Maybe he's doing such a bad job they don't want him to mess it up anymore…)

But that leaves him with nothing useful he can do. Everything else he can do is just a matter of taking care of himself. He's sitting around at camp taking up resources and contributing nothing. He understands that he can't do as much as usual, but it feels awful to do nothing at all, and it feels awful that no one else wants him to do anything. They stop him from doing things. Most of his time is spent sitting by the fire or in the tent by consequence.

The only reason spending so much of his time sitting around isn't mind-numbing is the exact same reason that Yew finds himself constantly on edge: Magnolia. She's apparently made it her mission to never have her hands off him for longer than five minutes when it's her turn to watch him.

It's not that he doesn't appreciate the distraction. He does! It's so much better to have her fingers tangled with his than to have no sensation but the carpet or sand underneath him, but at the same time her touches do strange things to him. He gets pleasant tingles on his skin wherever she touches, and it's increasingly difficult not to get absorbed in the feelings it creates as he becomes more and more aware of his sense of touch with every passing day he doesn't have his other senses.

A particular offender for the title of "most distracting action" is when she rubs her thumb over the back of his hand. Sometimes it's when they're walking, sometimes they're sitting around the campfire, but either way she'll have her hand clasped in his and be rubbing circles into the back of his and it's very hard to focus when that's happening. He doesn't know for sure what the action means but it feels affectionate, and he shamefully wants it to be affectionate. Moreover, it feels private in a way most gestures aren't. It's easy to overlook the action of a single thumb, so Yew can imagine that Edea and Tiz don't notice it happening and it's an action shared between just him and Magnolia.

Or maybe that's wistful thinking.

Yew has also come to both appreciate and fear when the gloves come off, literally. It doesn't happen often, usually in the morning or before a meal, but when that happens Yew sometimes gets to feel Magnolia's hands without their gloves in the way, and it's quite sometimes. She's wonderfully warm, and he can feel how slender her fingers actually are, and he can feel her callouses from years of spear training contrasted with his own softer, less tempered hands, and… and it's very human. It's one thing to feel the pressure of gloves on your gloves, and another to feel skin and warmth and the minute twitches and fidgets of another person.

He hopes he isn't too obviously enthralled when he gets the chance to feel her hands without their gloves, but he doubts he's that good at hiding his fascination. He prays Magnolia doesn't think he's being too weird.

She probably doesn't think he's weird because she keeps slipping her hand into his day after day, but Yew can't help but worry. That's why he fears when the gloves come off, not because it's in any way unpleasant, but because he worries something will happen and there won't be a "next time" for him to look forward to.

With all that said, Yew feels like he's of two minds when it comes to his situation. One part of his is desperate for contact and the implicit reassurance it offers him that he isn't alone, and the other wants all the touching to stop so he doesn't have to worry about what the other person is thinking and how he should be acting all the time.

Regardless of what position he's currently in, he can't relax. Either he's anxious that he's alone, or he's anxious about what the other person is thinking, and frankly it's exhausting. He feels like he spends most of his time worrying now, either about his condition or his uselessness. Only sleep offers relief.

Making it worse is that he knows Magnolia notices. He's finally figured out what the hand squeeze is supposed to be. It always comes on the tail of him being lost in thought or noticeably fidgeting. It's reassurance, and it makes Yew feel so much better and yet so much worse at the same time.

But mostly Yew is just tired. He's tired of being anxious, he's tired of being useless, he's tired of everything. He wishes he could just sleep; that he could close his eyes during the long portions of walking during the day, maybe while Edea is carrying him, and wake up in Al-Khampis with everything back to normal.

In fact, maybe he can. One day in the afternoon with the heat of the sun at their backs and Tiz's clumsy hands helping him onto Edea's strong back, Yew doesn't waste time in finding as comfortable a spot he can, resting his head on Edea's shoulder, and making a concerted effort to just not think and not be awake.

It's surprisingly effective. He doesn't wake up in Al-Khampis, but he does wake up to the smell of dinner and Magnolia (when did he get transferred to Magnolia?) setting him down in the tent. and that means he slept away at least a few hours.

Maybe he'll have to do this more often. If he can sleep away most of the month then he doesn't have to worry about doing something wrong, and if he can sleep in the evenings too it will be less of a burden on Magnolia because she wouldn't feel obliged to try and keep him entertained.

Except he knows he shouldn't. Yew knows psychology, he knows what anxiety fatigue is, and he knows he shouldn't indulge it, but it's so tempting. It looks like the solution to all their problems if he'd just let himself sleep, except that's a terrible idea. He's only going to make himself feel worse, and as much as he might be a burden he knows he's only going to make the others worried if he starts to spend half the waking day passed out.

He needs to do something, to be active, to be useful. He's sick of sitting in place being useless, but the others don't want him to do anything. Every time he tries to help with something they stop him. He wishes he knew why, he wishes he knew what he was doing wrong, he wishes he knew what they'd let him do, but he doesn't know and there's no way for him to know. They can't talk to him, and he can't talk to them.

So Yew comes up with a plan. It's a bad plan, and he doesn't like it because it involves acting like a petulant child and being a bother, two of the things he's actively trying to avoid right now, but he knows no other way of getting his message across.

The plan is as follows: when someone tries to take his bowl or plate after dinner. He doesn't let them, and no matter how much they try to insist he won't give it to them and will keep clinging to that stupid bowl or plate until he can was it himself.

That's it. That's the whole plan. He's going to be stubborn and uncooperative and keep trying to do chores until the others figure out that he wants to do something useful, because Yew knows no other way of communicating with them right now.

He puts the plan into action the very next day. He acts as normal for breakfast and lunch, not wanting to delay their travel, but when dinner comes around and he finishes the soup, and someone lightly grabs his bowl to signal to him to let go, he simply refuses.

The other person tugs a few times, probably thinking he didn't notice, but Yew has. He tightens his grip and tugs back, hoping they'll just give up and let go and let him keep the bowl.

They do… for a moment. Then their ungloved hands (it's Magnolia, of course) come to cover his and gently try to pull his fingers off the bowl. It's not forceful, more of a nudge that assumes he for some reason didn't understand the last signal to give her the bowl.

This time Yew makes his intent very obvious. He pulls both his hands and the bowl away from Magnolia and holds the bowl against his body, making it as clear as he possibly can that he is keeping the bowl.

He waits for a few seconds, not sure what to expect. This is the first time he's been defiant, so he doesn't know how Magnolia or anyone else is going to react. When no one touches him or the bowl in any way for a solid ten seconds, Yew decides that they're not about to abruptly rip the bowl out of his hands, and so he stands up and starts moving around to find the washtub. One hand clutches his bowl while the other reaches out, searching around the campfire.

He doesn't find it. It probably just hasn't been brought out for some reason, or it's a bit out of place, but the paranoid part of Yew's brain whispers that it's being hidden from him. Tiz almost always brings the tub out just to hold supplies off the sandy ground while cooking, so it being missing in this one instance is suspicious. Are they that desperate to prevent him from washing his own dishes?

At some point hands find Yew's arm (Magnolia again), and Yew instinctively pulls away. He's not going to be made to sit down again! He's going to find the stupid tub, and he's going to wash his stupid bowl, and he won't let Magnolia stop him no matter how nice she's trying to be about it.

"I'm sorry Magnolia, I don't want to be a bother." He silently apologizes.

So he fumbles around for a few more minutes, getting very disoriented in the process. Which way is the campfire? He can't feel its heat anymore. Is that- oh, he just found something. The tent? When did he get over here?

Maybe the tub is still in the tent? Yew ducks inside and takes off his boots for a second, and goes searching around with one hand. He doesn't actually know where they keep the tub, so he tries to search areas he doesn't usually go.

That leads to more than one stubbed toe and a few near trips, but no tub.

Again Magnolia grabs his arm, this time a bit more insistently, and again Yew pulls away. He is not going to let her take the bowl. He is going to wash this bowl no matter how long it takes. If he has to take out the wizard asterisk and make the water himself, he'll do it. It doesn't matter if he can't tell which asterisk is which, he'll attune to every single one in turn until he finds it!

He feels like such a brat. More than anything he just wants to apologize, but he doesn't want to stop his plan halfway through or all his petulance will be for nothing.

Magnolia doesn't leave him be for long. Less than five seconds later she grabs his arm again, and when he tries to pull away this time she tightens her grip rather than letting him go and tugs him towards what he thinks is the entrance to the tent.

And Yew refuses. His plants his feet and doesn't allow himself to be moved. He shoots a defiant look at Magnolia (or at least he hopes he is) and clutches his bowl all the tighter. He is not allowing her to tell him what to do!

His bravado is a complete lie. He feels terrible.

For a brief second he can feel her hand tense; her fingers curl just a bit on his arm. She tugs again, once, twice, three times, trying to prompt him to move, but Yew refuses. He stays stubbornly, rudely, planted in place, holding his stupid, irrelevant bowl as he refuses to cooperate with the one person who has gone out of their way to be extra considerate of him.

"I'm awful." Yew thinks miserably, even as he holds his head all the higher and scrunches his nose at Magnolia. He hates this plan. He should never have tried this. He should have just let Magnolia take the bowl. "What if she's offended? What if she stops playing with me? What if she stops helping me altogether? I guess I'll deserve it after this."

Strong hands and stronger arms suddenly loop around his waist. They're not gentle like Magnolia, who is still grabbing his arm, and they don't care for his resistance as they haul him right off his feet and march outside with him thrown over the person's shoulder like a sack of flour… or a misbehaving toddler.

Yew is many things in that moment. He's shocked at the suddenness of it, he's frustrated at his efforts amounting to nothing, he's angry that this person (Edea, probably) doesn't care for his thoughts and is forcing him to be where she wants, but mostly he's just humiliated. Humiliated that he thought acting up would accomplish anything, and humiliated to be carried out of the tent like a child.

"I'm sorry." He'd say if he could, but he can't, so instead he clutches his bowl tighter and tighter until his fingers hurt and hopes his expression isn't a reflection of what he feels.

Edea sets him down somewhere. Yew doesn't know where. It's sandy, but everywhere is sandy. They're in a desert. He can feel the fire to his left and the start of a chill everywhere else (the sun must be down. The desert gets very cold at night), but that doesn't tell him much. What does Edea want him to do?

Part of him doesn't care what Edea wants him to do. That part wants him to throw the bowl on the ground, or stomp his feet, or do something rather than stand still in silent anger and indignity.

Yew ignores that part of himself. A Geneolgia must always be composed. They do not throw objects, or a tantrum. They keep quiet and dignified, and use that energy for something more productive.

(The way his father phrased it was: "If someone slights you, don't do something useless like shaking your fist. You won't accomplish anything like that. Don't distance someone who could be useful, even if they're rude. Besides, there are more subtle and more… productive ways to channel your anger with someone.")

It was a very roundabout way of saying that anger can be made into something useful, but his father always spoke a bit oddly.

Yew is having a hard time thinking of something useful he can do with his anger right about now, and he hardly deserves to be angry considering he was the one being intentionally problematic.

Edea bumps her elbow against his arm, and when Yew doesn't immediately respond she bruskly grabs his hands with her own (ignoring the way Yew fights against her) and shoves them forward.

Yew is indignant until his hands meet cold water, and he realizes that Edea has put him right in front of the wash tub. Was it always there? Did he miss it on his first pass around the campsite, or was it taken out and filled after he started searching inside the tent?

Was that why Magnolia was trying to pull him out of the tent? She didn't grab the bowl like she did before. Was she trying to lead him to the tub? He fought against her for no reason.

He almost doesn't want to wash his bowl anymore. The victory of communication is gone. The others understood just fine, and he gave them trouble for no reason. It would be rude to do all this and not wash his bowl though, so Yew dutifully rolls up his sleeves as far as they'll go (he learned his lesson from getting wet sleeves last time), finds the washcloth, and starts scrubbing.

It takes less than a minute to wash his bowl. He spent multiple minutes being a pain so he could stick his hands in cold water and scrub a metal bowl for less than sixty seconds.

He's not very tired, but as soon as someone takes the clean bowl out of his hands Yew flees back to the tent to go hide in his bedroll and pretend to be asleep to avoid having to face (metaphorically) the disapproval of his companions.

No one bothers him as he lies in his bedroll, and Yew eventually falls into a fitful sleep.

Yew just wants to be a good boy, but these desperate times have forced him to take desperate measures.

Yes. Being stubborn about cleaning a bowl is "desperate measures" to Yew because he couldn't actually be mean even if he tried.