At least his answer is probably going to make as little sense to her as hers did to him--not that the point is getting to know each other. Not that the point is anything but trying to find the light at the top of the hole, put their hands out into the clear air, find a hold, and pull themselves out.
"A place called New York," he says, the first time the answer has felt small or obscure in the telling. "On a plant called Earth. A lot of us here are from Earth, I guess." It certainly takes his mind off other things, to try to put his section of what is an increasingly large universe into proper context: "It's the only habitable planet in our solar system, and in my time we haven't really explored beyond that.
"And I've never left New York until now." He hadn't even moved out of Chelsea, when he left his mother's building. She'd offered him a room upstairs, hardly understood the point of his leaving at all, without a family of his own to start, but his rebellion had gotten him all of a city block away.
"What did you--" do falls quiet from his lips, as they clear bright young saplings into a carpet of moss, covering the rocks surrounding the spring. Steam comes off the water, bubbles rising idly from whatever natural vent is heating it. When he drops her hand, its an idle movement, their fingers catching at the tips and resting together, waiting for someone to pull away. "It's pretty," he says in a low hush, like it's the first thought he's had since the other day that doesn't hurt.
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"A place called New York," he says, the first time the answer has felt small or obscure in the telling. "On a plant called Earth. A lot of us here are from Earth, I guess." It certainly takes his mind off other things, to try to put his section of what is an increasingly large universe into proper context: "It's the only habitable planet in our solar system, and in my time we haven't really explored beyond that.
"And I've never left New York until now." He hadn't even moved out of Chelsea, when he left his mother's building. She'd offered him a room upstairs, hardly understood the point of his leaving at all, without a family of his own to start, but his rebellion had gotten him all of a city block away.
"What did you--" do falls quiet from his lips, as they clear bright young saplings into a carpet of moss, covering the rocks surrounding the spring. Steam comes off the water, bubbles rising idly from whatever natural vent is heating it. When he drops her hand, its an idle movement, their fingers catching at the tips and resting together, waiting for someone to pull away. "It's pretty," he says in a low hush, like it's the first thought he's had since the other day that doesn't hurt.