Vanille has been called a lot of things in her life, but "Mom" is definitely a new one. She fights down another wave of worry, keeping her hand on his shoulder for another moment or so to try to prevent him from getting up out of bed. Upright is okay, she supposes, but not on his feet. Whatever he thinks he sees, or whoever, Vanille doesn't want to leave him by himself. A thousand reasons for that flit through her head, circling round her ears in a confusing mesh, but it really boils down to guilt. Preemptive guilt, even. If anything happens to him and she isn't there to at least lend a hand, work him through whatever this is, she might never be able to live with herself.

"I'm not-" She pauses, sighing softly. "It's me. Vanille. I don't even know what New York is, remember?"