Longest chapter yet right here, guys. I have no idea how that happened.
"Arashk! Arashk! Are you all right?"
Only a few seconds have passed, he can tell. In his absence, his body seems to have stayed pretty chill; he's still seated in the chair, blinking profusely, hands hanging limply by his sides. As his vision rapidly comes back into focus, he sees that Livia's kneeling in front of him, wearing the same concerned expression she usually has when he comes out of a vision. Her hand is grasping his shoulder, carefully positioned so her arm doesn't brush against his cheek.
"Yeah," he says after a few seconds, shaking his head. "Fine."
At this affirmation she immediately stands up, her expression morphing into something he's never seen on her before. "Then what the hell was that about?" she demands, eyes wide, a knot forming between her brows.
He blinks up at her, and opens his mouth, still not sure how he's going to respond, but she continues before he can formulate an answer: "That was a total invasion of privacy! And what happened to the whole 'don't touch me' attitude? I thought you preferred to avoid visions when you could!"
"Yeah, and who told you that, exactly?" he retorts, and immediately snaps his mouth shut. Idiot. Think before you speak. She's upset, and she will go back to him with anything suspicious if she stays that way. Keep it cool.
She's staring, and her eyes are still wide, but now she just looks bewildered. "The Master did. Why is that important?"
He shakes his head. "Forget that. Just… can I ask you a question?"
The look she gives him is not encouraging, but after a moment she just says in a small voice, "What?"
Arashk draws in a breath, deep and controlled. This might be a truly terrible idea. But he has to know. He's losing his mind, and he has to know if there's the tiniest chance that… that he's not the only one. He can always do damage control later.
And before he has a chance to talk himself out of it, he asks, "Is Livia Istok the name you were born with?"
The look that passes over her eyes answers his question immediately. She opens her mouth, but the word seems to die on her lips.
But he doesn't need it.
He points at her, eyes wide, and says with renewed confidence in his voice, "It's not, is it? You took it when you joined the show, I'll bet. Another inquiry, if I may—what was your name before that?"
Livia's staring at him with her eyes wide and her mouth still slightly open.
He leans forward eagerly. "Come on, it's a simple enough question."
Even as he gets closer to her, she steps back. "Arashk, I'm not—"
"Or might I rephrase—can you tell me your name before that?"
She's visibly uncomfortable. "I don't see why you want to know."
Confirmation. Not that he needed it. "I know it's personal, but it's also important, and…" He's getting excited. Somewhere in his mind it registers that this is a dangerous thing, and while normally he'd probably just brush such a thought aside, the things his mind produces nowadays as far as theories about what might happen are much worthier of being listened to. He closes his eyes for the briefest moment, reorienting himself, and
"Are you like me?"
He thinks he gasps, but he's in his mind now, and he can never be sure what his body is doing when that's the case. He sees her diving towards him as he heads for the door, he sees the false smile drop from her face, he sees her lips forming those words—Are you like me? And then he was there, and he urged Arashk away, and then he told her something, something to discourage her from pursuing the line of inquiry any further. But most of all, Arashk sees the desperation in her eyes. They're the eyes of someone who has been very, very alone, who sees the slightest possibility of finding a kindred spirit, whose every hope hinges on a single answer in the affirmative.
No wonder the life had left her eyes by the next time he saw her. That… that man had snatched away her hope. She must have felt even more alone than before.
As Arashk opens his eyes after what should have been only a few seconds Livia's about to vanish from his line of sight. He registers her brusque words "I have to go practice" several seconds late, and he just about falls flat on his face as he leaps out of the chair and tries to start running. Clearly his questions were driving her away, but now he thinks he knows what to say to get her to open up.
Arashk dashes after her, calling, "Liv! Hold up!" The moment he calls her name, though, is the same moment she rounds a corner, disappearing behind a line of trailers full of equipment.
He's only a few seconds behind her. But when he skids to a halt around the same corner, she is nowhere to be seen.
He just stands there for a few moments, blinking in disbelief. But there's no time to work out how she might have vanished so completely so immediately—he just has to find her, because she did not leave him in a state that he can trust to keep quiet, and if that damn man hears a single word about this—
He doesn't know, can't know, who's around. There's no reason to suspect there's anybody within earshot, but he's become more than a little paranoid of late, and justifiably so. The Master, he has to assume, has ears everywhere.
He has to risk it.
"Livia," he calls, stepping forward cautiously. "I know you're scared, but you don't have to be. We need to talk. Hear me out. I… I am like you, Liv. Or whatever your name used to be. Please…" He blinks back sudden tears. "Please don't tell him about this."
He walks around the vicinity, repeating the message as many times as he dares, because she might be hiding, and if she ran, he has no idea which way. He gives up these efforts after several minutes and wanders around for a few more until he finds the typical area where she practices. But she's not there.
Arashk has been lying on his bed trying to sleep for half an hour when he has to throw in the towel. A nap's not happening. When he returned to his apartment after thirty minutes of attempting to locate Livia, he was exhausted, and it just figures that he wouldn't be able to sleep. Then again, the moderately loud jazz music his neighbor is playing doesn't exactly help. Normally he doesn't really mind. Now's different.
He just wants to see her. Her golden hair, her sky blue eyes, her brilliant smile. He wants to hear her laugh until she has to hold her sides, he wants to hear her sing. To smell her hair, stroke her face, twirl her on the dance floor, kiss her till she sees stars.
He wishes with everything inside him that he could remember her name.
The time has come to face the facts. He's been avoiding putting what's happened into words in his head—as if doing so would suddenly make it real. No, it was always real, and sure it doesn't make a goddamn bit of sense, but since when has anything in this world?
He can't remember their names. None of them. Not one of the people he dreams about, not one of the people he's idly thought of in spare moments. His ex-girlfriend, the teacher who loved service, the one who wanted to live to change people. That tall, grouchy, trigger-happy detective embittered by the world and trying to stay cool and distant, but who definitely liked him, deep deep down. His father, whom he can at least still label "Dad"—or "Father," or "Pa," or whatever he used to call him, but probably "Dad"—who shaped him into what he is now, who never stopped loving him but also never had a flipping clue how to show it. His best friend for as long as he can remember, his loyal sidekick, a pharmaceutical salesman, a great dancer, a dilettante of basically everything, some of whose ridiculous nicknames have managed to stick in his head, but whose real name is lost.
His beautiful girlfriend, brave and strong and smart and kind, a skilled detective, a truly good person, the woman he would marry straightaway if he weren't so commitment-phobic.
If he ever manages to get out of here, he'll somehow relearn her name, and he'll propose as soon as he's sure he's got it.
Most countries, cities, and states remain in his mind. He knows he was born and raised in the southwest of the United States, and he can still clearly picture his hometown on the coast, the house where he grew up—he just couldn't produce even one part of his address. He has some inkling of the street number, but based on his track record, he wouldn't bet on being right.
He sits up. There's something he's trying to distract himself from with this subject of thought, isn't there? As soon as that thought enters his mind, he shies away from it, groping for something else to think about, but it's back again, and it's not letting him forget—Livia—the Master—the people whose names he can't remember—
His eyes are suddenly and intensely drawn to his door. Acting on a sudden impulse that rises from somewhere deep inside him, he gets up, crosses the room, and pulls it open.
Just outside, Livia jumps in surprise, lowering her hand. Normally he'd be registering a similar sort of surprise, but he realizes that he's actually quite impassive at the moment. Maybe he's finally starting to get used to this.
He unconsciously bites the inside of his cheek as he waits for her to speak. Somewhere in him is a bright optimism, that her appearance this soon after that conversation is probably a very good sign. He does all he can to squash it. In this moment, optimism feels very, very dangerous.
Livia's pursing her lips, watching him, apparently still searching for the right words. After a few seconds that feel like way longer, she says quietly, "You were right."
Oh God. Oh sweet Jesus in heaven, thank you. Something's going to go right. He's going to learn something he can use, or at least gain some sort of comrade, and for the first time in however the hell long he's been here, things will be looking up.
Livia opens her mouth to continue, and even though he checks his room for bugs every night and sometimes during the day as well and is reasonably sure that they're not under any kind of surveillance, before she can get a word out he steps forward onto the tiny platform at the top of the stairs that lead up to his door—so tiny that Livia has to step back to the first step to make room for him—pulling the door shut behind him. "Let's take this elsewhere," he says lowly.
For a few moments she just stares at him. Then a dark understanding overtakes her eyes, and she turns and starts down the stairs.
Arashk follows her down, but takes the lead once they hit the ground. Something urges him to go left, and he's not yet sure where they're headed—he just knows they shouldn't be seen walking around together. The Master must know at this point that they've become friends, so if they're seen just having a conversation that shouldn't be suspicious, but… he would avoid letting anyone overhear any part of this particular conversation, if at all possible.
He stops by a car that they both know is used only for storage, and ascends the short staircase. He knows before he tries the knob that it will be unlocked. Grinning involuntarily, he pulls the door open and steps aside, gesturing to Livia to go ahead in.
Livia looks at him dubiously.
"No one will be coming in here for at least a few hours," Arashk asserts.
She asks, apparently without thinking, "How do you know?"
"I just do," and that's really all there is to it. He is certain that it's true, and he's gotten over the days when he just had to fact check and worry and wonder before finally accepting that his unfounded certainty carried any weight. He still somehow feels a little violated when this happens, when some realization enters his mind outside of his perception or understanding, but he's not about to complain now.
Livia doesn't ask for any further explanation. She steps inside, and he follows after, closing the door firmly behind him.
He finds the single light switch rather quickly, and conducts a quick scan of the room's contents. Mostly game stuff—collapsed tents, rings, huge stuffed animals.
"Did you say anything to the Master?" he asks immediately on turning.
She doesn't answer immediately, and his heart just about stops. But after a few seconds of considering him silently, she says softly, "No."
His heart starts beating again, and he exhales. "Good," he manages.
"Why?" she asks almost immediately.
His mind is already racing. Should he explain? He already seems to have… "recruited" her, at least in part; why not go all the way? This hyper-freaky selective amnesia has to mean they have something in common, but it really seems that she is, in fact, here of her own free will. If she wasn't abducted like he was, he doesn't really have another guess as to what that connection might be. So the question here is… will telling her that he was kidnapped increase his chances of getting further useful information?
It might. He has no way of knowing. Revised question: what would he be risking by telling her?
She clearly trusts the Master. She's never voiced any doubts about his character. But she seems to be very tentatively accepting of the possibility that he's not what he seems—at least enough to go this long without talking to him about what she surely normally would have reported soon after it happened.
But should he risk it?
Discretion is the better part of valor. Instinct tells him to keep quiet for now. There is obviously something beyond the realm of normal human understanding at play here and it could be dangerous just to put that extra information in her head.
On the other hand, it could be the one thing that leads to her sharing something that she wouldn't otherwise—whether just by causing it to occur to her, or by inspiring sufficient trust.
He tries to see things her way. To her, as far as Arashk knows, the Master is a kind man who gave her a steady job that she loves when her family wasn't supporting her and who has never given her reason to doubt him until, perhaps, now. And Arashk is a psychic of questionable stability who wants to keep secrets from him.
Telling her might inspire more trust. But if it doesn't inspire enough, she could turn back to the man who has it out for him and give him a reason to hurt Arashk's family.
He has no way of knowing. His head is starting to hurt. Livia looks concerned.
So he does the only thing he can think to do.
He changes the subject.
"When I was in your mind," he says quietly, trying for all he's worth to appear composed, "I saw a name. But it wasn't like any other name I've ever sensed—because I couldn't actually tell what it was. That's extremely unusual. Do you see how strange that is? To remember a name that you once knew, but not actually remember what it was?"
There's suspicion in her eyes. But for now, he doesn't sense any intention to push him to explain himself—at least not immediately. He knows the words he's saying are hitting close to home. With every word the suspicion is replaced more and more with terrible, crushing loneliness and general misery, with a dash of old confusion mixed in for good measure.
"Okay," she says, immediately beginning to fidget with the ring on her index finger like she does whenever she's nervous, but her eyes are locked on him. "Okay," she says again, and, the words clearly a struggle for her, "you were right."
Arashk waits for her to continue, eyes wide, hanging on her words.
"I…" She bites her lip, and actually squeezes her eyes shut before finally managing, "I don't know my name."
God, he wishes he could smile. He remembers a time when he used to do it a lot more. He knows he shouldn't, but the confirmation beyond any shadow of a doubt is such a relief, such a comfort, he would love to be able to show it, even in a simple way. But Livia looks like she's about to cry, and with that right in front of him, his instincts won't allow a smile.
Instead, he just says quietly, "I don't know mine either."
At once she looks at the ceiling and lets out a small gasp, a release of air it sounds like she's been holding in for a while. She rubs at her eyes roughly, but they still appear to be pretty dry. "I'm such an idiot," she whispers fiercely. "When you first came to me and introduced yourself, you gave a different name than the one I'd heard people saying, and I wondered, but—but I had accepted a long time ago that I was just insane, and Livia probably really was my name, and either way it had nothing to do with anyone else, and… and…" She trails off, clearly trying to compose herself. She still hasn't shed a tear. Arashk is impressed.
"No use beating yourself up over it," he says quietly, consolingly. And, after a pause, "Where'd 'Livia Istok' come from then?"
She glances at him, looking puzzled. "Everyone was just calling me by it when I arrived. It was on all my papers, even in my own handwriting… My original name, which I'm sure was written on at least a few of my possessions, was replaced by it… When I started seeing it written down everywhere, I stopped correcting people. I never said another word about it. It was just too absurd."
He's silent for a moment, trying to decide on the best thing to say next. But Livia's not quite done. "And what about you?" she asks. "Arashk Ronaldo. Where did that come from?"
"I mean… about the same as it was with you, I guess." He frowns. There are a couple more details he could mention, but they involve the Master, and he's not ready for her to ask about that again.
Fortunately, he's spared from having to continue when Livia whispers, "Why us, Arashk? Why did we forget?"
Arashk rubs his head. "I don't really have a solid theory at the moment," he admits, "but there has to be something that we have in common. And… it was probably done to us on purpose." He's been hearing the dead and sensing the future for several months at least and even now the words sound ridiculous.
"How?" Livia asks, eyes wide.
He shrugs helplessly. "No idea. But here's what I do know: it happened to both of us as soon as we joined the show. It's something to do with this carnival, Liv. Probably a person within it." He draws in a breath, and before she can take advantage of the pause to ask another question, he barrels on, "God, okay, listen, you have to trust me. Please trust me. The old man in the setup crew, Arthur Loriss, he might know something, and I need to get something of his that he values to try to find out what it is, but he cannot know that I have it, can't even know it's been stolen—"
"Arashk, slow down!" Livia cuts in, and she sounds frustrated. "You need to steal something from Loriss?"
He nods. "Some object he has a strong emotional connection with. So I can keep track of his thoughts and feelings and—"
"What makes you think he has anything to do with this?"
There is no patience in her eyes anymore. She's stopped fiddling with her ring. Her arms are crossed, her jaw set. She wants answers, and she wants them now.
"I'm so sorry," he says, and his voice comes out hoarser than he expected. He pauses to clear his throat, and repeats, "I'm so sorry, Liv, but the fact is, somebody was in our heads to find our names and pull them out. For reasons that I can't tell you, the full explanation would be very dangerous to disclose and trust me, I would give my blood to make this less complicated, but as it stands… I can just say I'm sorry."
Her arms have loosened just a touch, but she's still holding his gaze.
He puts his hands together in a praying position. "Please. All I'm asking is for you to help me get one thing from Loriss and not go to the Master about it. I know he asks after me. I know you worry about me. And I know it's a long shot, but if this works, this just might help us remember our names."
That does the trick. Her eyes soften, and he can read a deep longing in them, the fulfillment of which she's not about to deny herself. At least, he hopes not. Her family's not on the line; as far as he can tell, this whole name business is the most confusing and upsetting aspect of her life right now, and were he in her position, and offered a chance at getting it back, he's sure he'd take it in a heartbeat.
"I don't like keeping secrets," she begins hesitantly, and Arashk swears his vision starts to go black around the edges. Is he about to faint? He can't recall ever experiencing that in response to a purely emotional stimulus.
"But," she continues, and suddenly the world manages to right itself, "if somebody is in fact keeping my name a secret from me, I want to know why. And I want it back."
He stares at her, blinking. A quiet but unshakeable determination has taken root in her eyes. And a grin starts to curve Arashk's mouth, completely out of his control. "Liv," he breathes, "I think that was the most badass thing I've ever heard."
A laugh of pure surprise escapes her, serving only to widen Arashk's grin even more. It's such a simple thing, but all of a sudden it's like part of the enormous load on his shoulders has been lifted. He doesn't want it to end. So in the cover of Livia's giggles, he allows himself a little laugh as well.
For just a moment, he feels like his old self again.
If only he had a label for it.
Near-comfortable silence descends on them. Arashk enjoys it for a few more seconds before deciding it's time to get back on track. "If you do in fact get something," he says, "bring it to my apartment. Don't actually say out loud that you have it. And if I'm not there, don't leave it at my doorstep or anything."
"And make sure Art has no reason to suspect it's been taken." She nods. "Got it."
He sighs. Going over the rules again just solidifies to him the practical impossibility of this endeavor. It just… can't be done. Leastways not anytime soon. He knows that. He also knows that having recruited Livia, he ought to feel more vulnerable. At least he knew he could trust himself to be covert and keep his own secrets.
But utilizing a skill born out of long years of practice, he can make it a decision—feel less safe because he has a potential blabbermouth, or more safe because he has a confidant. There's no going back now, no benefit to be had from feeling insecure. This is no longer a situation in which those survival instincts can help keep him safe, so he'll take a feeling of security any day.
He's pretty sure all that needed to be said has been said. The summary of the situation felt more than a little like a parting line. He unconsciously takes a step towards the door as he pulls up a mental list of everything they've covered, and cross checks it with a list of everything they needed to cover. As far as he can tell, things are looking good. "Remember," he says, deciding this would be something good to leave her with, "rule número uno: you can't breathe a word of this to anyone."
Livia considers him for a moment, and opens her mouth. He's fully expecting one last question or expression of confusion to come out of it, but what she does say, voice saturated with uncertainty, catches him by surprise: "Should I carry on calling you 'Arashk'?"
He blinks. And blinks again. Though it's an exercise in futility that he's put himself through time and time again and that has yielded no success, his mind flashes through a million different memories that really ought to include his real name. But, as ever, where the people in those memories ought to utter that name, what comes out of their mouths is just white noise.
"Yeah," he finds himself saying. "I mean, you've gotta call me something. And using any other name would look fishy. So… if you're asking if I mind…" He pauses. "I do. A lot. But it's okay; I'll know what you mean. Or rather, I won't, but… I'll know what you mean to mean."
She smiles uncertainly.
"What about you?" he asks, bringing his voice down a notch.
Her smile takes on a more genuine look. Her eyes wander away from his for a moment, but they manage to return as she says, "You know… no one's ever really called me 'Liv' before you showed up. Every time you say it, it's… it's nice. I know it's still no replacement for my birth name, but it's also not what everyone else around here thinks my birth name really is."
Arashk finds himself smiling back—an honest to goodness smile for the second time in just a few minutes. He's on a roll today. "See you later, Liv."
Her face is still lit up with muted happiness, but as he places his hand on the door handle the smile fades. And she says, in a tone that leaves no room for argument, "I fully expect a complete explanation as soon as you can give it."
He blinks in surprise at the sudden tone shift, but he nods. A few drafts of oral responses flit through his mind, but there's really not anything else to be said. She really shouldn't be trusting him. All he can do is be thankful that she is.
Arashk steps outside, and before he's even managed to shut the door, a shout sounds behind him: "Hey!"
Oh crap oh damn why didn't he check for witnesses before he stepped outside he's such an idiot—
He turns around, and standing a few yards away from the bottom of the stairs is Terrence. The strongman's wearing his typical wife beater, short shorts, and fingerless workout gloves, but the expression on his face is far more severe than the one he usually wears. "What were you doing in there, Ronaldo?" he calls, crossing his arms.
Okay. Okay okay don't panic Arashk, just—He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to orient himself. Just be the unstable psychic he thinks you are.
"Terrence," he says, eyes snapping open, thanking the powers that be that Terrence called him out before Livia left the car. She's still inside. She must know something's going on. "Terrence," he says again, trying to find the right words, "I… I'm not really sure where I am."
The emotion on the strongman's face shifts—it's not quite what Arashk would describe as rage, but maybe rage's first cousin. "Do I look like a fool?" he spits, and oh God he's coming closer. Arashk hurries down the stairs, hoping to have the conversation at ground level, but Terrence steps briskly past him, and of course there is nothing in Arashk's power he can do to physically stop him. He's never suspected Terrence to have a personal vendetta against him, and he still doesn't, but the guy is clearly a strict rules-follower, and he's gotta admit this doesn't look good.
"Wait, Terre," he pleads, following him back up the stairs, "I promise I didn't break anything, I didn't mean to go in there, this happens sometimes, I just wake up in strange places after visions and—" In what he knows is a futile effort to stop a guy two heads taller than he is and at least twice his weight from moving forward, he grabs at Terrence's forearm.
He's never touched Terrence before. He always kind of suspected that if he did, he'd find himself in a tattoo parlor. Now, as he becomes accustomed to his new surroundings, he realizes that's a bit far off the mark. He's standing in a nice apartment decorated with pale green and off-white, and across from him, a younger version of Terrence stands facing a pretty woman with a creamy complexion and a cascade of wavy blonde hair.
It's a quick one, as visions go; Arashk hears the words "You need to slow down" floating around him, he feels a name beginning with S, he senses a relationship between the two people in front of him that used to be strong but is now breaking rapidly apart. Terrence looks profoundly upset, but at the same time, composed… There are knives mounted all over the wall behind him… They're both wearing long sleeves and the calendar on the wall bears a picture of a snow-covered tree…
It all fades away faster than it usually would, and somewhere in the back of his mind he wonders if he's starting to develop some control over the duration of his visions. It's a nice thought that the psychic center of his brain might be in the process of becoming attuned to when he's okay with checking out for a few minutes at a time, and when he really really needs to be present and aware of what's happening around him.
He's in the middle of rapid-fire blinking when he returns to his body, and Terrence is standing halfway up the small set of stairs, just watching him. Arashk's gaze goes automatically to the area on his arm he touched, and sure enough, his eyes fall on the word "stop."
Suddenly he feels like writing a research essay on the psychic significance of tattoos. Or making his best friend write such an essay, like he always did back in school. Do they count as objects? How interesting.
Wait. Terrence is standing alone. His expression is significantly more forgiving, all the anger at being lied to having drained away, and he looks… concerned. Arashk has gotten tired of being looked at like a damn charity case, but in this instance it's a huge relief.
It also doesn't make a lick of sense.
Was there a window in there? Did Liv hide and Terrence just didn't look very hard? How the hell did he not find her?
Stop thinking about that, Arashk, you can't afford to be distracted. Terrence has expressed doubts in regards to his psychic abilities in the past; if there were ever a time and opportunity to seal the deal, this is it.
"She was a knife-thrower, I bet," he tries, and Terrence's expression changes, and that unelaborated fact alone freaks Arashk out enough that he continues, "I mean, I don't know how else to explain all those knives. I feel like that was a different circus than this one; not really sure why, but it's the analysis I'm sticking with. You've been part of multiple circuses? That's neat. I'm sorry about the whole situation, she was beautiful, and she loved you, but something went wrong along the way, you were taking different paths or something, I'm not sure… Happened in the dead of winter too, I feel like that's prime breakup time for some reason…"
Man, he's already babbling. He'd love to be suave with this. But even beyond the fact that he probably couldn't currently pull off "suave" if he tried, it just doesn't seem to be his best bet to get Terrence on his side.
"You saw her?" the strongman asks, his voice quiet, his features controlled.
Arashk nods. "Was it… Sally?" Terrence's eyebrows quirk just enough that Arashk feels safe saying, "No, not Sally. Um… Sam… Samantha."
"Samantha," Terrence whispers, a small smile curving his mouth.
Arashk points to the "stop" on the strongman's arm. "She'd approve of that, I'm sure," he offers, and immediately wishes he'd given himself more time to think of something a little more… eloquent.
Sticking true to the way he's always been and not learning from his mistakes, he switches gears and goes on immediately, "I'm sorry I was in there. I got lost in a vision, and the door must've been unlocked. It's a lot like sleepwalking." He takes on a pleading look, and says in the most pathetic voice he can manage, "Please don't tell anyone. It was an accident. It won't happen again."
Terrence is sold, he can tell immediately. His concern has evolved straight into pity, and Arashk silently congratulates himself, for once glad to see that expression directed towards him. "Hey, don't worry about it," he says. Aw, Terrence. You're just a big softie, aren't you? "Just…" Arashk can see the full struggle to find something appropriate to say on the strongman's face, and indeed, Arashk is pretty curious as to how he's going to finish that sentence. While he waits, he just counts his blessings that this BS about sleepwalking isn't actually something he has to deal with.
"Just be careful," Terrence finally settles on. "You said you don't know where you are. Have you figured it out?"
Arashk blinks. "Uh… I think my apartment is that way, if that's what you're asking?"
Terrence nods. He seems to actually be offering genuine reassurance, which means he must remember the one time he came to Arashk's door—when he gave him the key his second night here. Impressive.
"Well… I think I'll go have a nap." He makes solid and prolonged eye contact with Terrence and makes sure to put on the most disgustingly grateful expression in his arsenal when he says "Thank you" one more time. He almost wants to complete the sentence with a reminder of what exactly he is thanking Terrence for not doing, but best not; the guy knows, and this way it will feel less like he's following instructions and more like he's doing a favor.
"No problem," the strongman says, offering a small smile of reassurance, and Arashk starts padding in the direction of his apartment, feeling Terrence's eyes on his back the whole way. He tries to calm his heart, still pounding hard and fast, and after performing a few breathing exercises, he has to resist the urge to look back at the train car that Livia is apparently no longer in. That woman is amazing. And… kind of utterly infuriating. He'll have to ask how she managed it the next time he sees her, if it's safe.
Once he's decidedly passed out of the range of Terrence's view and the train car that contains his apartment enters his line of sight, he starts wondering whether he's in a better or worse place than he was half an hour ago. In that time alone two people have been given ammunition to use against him if they so choose, but also reasons not to do so.
He decides, as he's been trying to do the whole time he's been here, trying to do his entire life, to look on the bright side. Keeping that up is the only way he's going to get through this.
Well, one thing's for damn sure: he really does need a nap.
