"...What does that mean? Ibni? I can't-" He huffs, mind twisting and turning around his conversational grasp of Arabic. He can follow a line of thought but- some stuff flips through the cracks. "I can't place that one."

It's a noun, he thinks. Has to be. Everything he's heard makes sense with or without it so- something with emphasis? An endearment. As though he earned the right to endear anyone to his mess of a self.