The mood was a little brighter now.
Of course, the wounds had yet to heal. Trauma from that night alone would take years, if not decades, to fully be remedied. Still, for right now, at this moment, in this time, everything was okay. Everything was fine.
The man, only a few moments prior, wrapped a thick stream of white cloth over the boy's wound, a deep tinge of red seeping into the fibres not long after. Naturally, as their relationship thus far would have you expect, they did so in utter silence.
It can't be denied, however, that something had changed. The boy couldn't quite put his finger on it—perhaps it was the man's kindness which won him over, or perhaps it was simply the comfort of no longer being alone...
Either way, he felt he deserved to know.
"Heath," He muttered under his breath, lowering his head so as to not show his flustered expression.
"What?" The man asked, lifting a glass and taking a small swig of water.
"My name... is Heath."
He lowered his glass, gently softening its landing with his pinkie, outstretched and unsatisfied, as if pleading for more. "I see..."
The boy shuffled in his seat. They were no longer outside, opting to sit at one of the desolate tables inside the ruined bar. In doing so, Heath couldn't help but slowly pace his eyes around, as if trying to familiarize himself with the location: Every plank, every hole, every stain.
In truth, it was more the fear of looking him in the eyes that caused this. If he had a choice, the room would go unnoticed. Unchanged. He didn't want to grow attached—to gain memories of sterile and stark remains from a distant past he'd never get to know.
It was as if the man sensed this, gripping the cuff of his own wrist as he rested his arms against the table. "Well, Heath," He murmured, "I'm Eofa. Nice to meet you."
The boy nodded.
"I understand you're not very talkative. Why is that?"
Birds chirped from outside, thankfully filling every awkward pause with their joy. "I don't feel like it."
He sighed. "Huh, alright. I suppose, if I were in your shoes, I wouldn't want to talk much either-"
"-Where did you go?" Heath scoffed, a slight anger hanging under his voice.
"Oh, you mean for these past two days?"
He nodded.
"Well, I realised you'd never get up if I kept coming to you, so I simply made you come to me."
"By nearly starving me?"
"You would've only starved if you were weak. You had a spirit, and you wanted to live, and you did. It hardly would've been my fault if you killed yourself."
He wanted to respond—to make any semblance of a comeback to his statement—but he couldn't formulate one in his mind. He was at a complete loss for words, instead letting out a slight pout and slumping over in his chair.
The man laughed at this. "You're rather moody for a seven-year-old, aren't you?"
His eyes widened, developing a slight stutter in his tone. "How do you know my age?"
"Hmm... I suppose I know a lot of things I shouldn't."
Heath had opened his mouth to speak once more, but this time, Eofa cut him off. "I have a question for you now. Will you answer it?"
He hesitated. Still, this was the man who saved him. The man who allowed him to live another day. He nodded.
"Why won't you roll over and die?"
For a brief moment, he could feel his heart drop. "What..." he spewed, taking his words like a stab in the gut. "...What do you mean?
Suddenly, a hush fell over the room. Eofa's eyes, Heath could've sworn, turned soulless. Lifeless. It grew cold—unbearably so—and just for a moment, a minor fraction in time, he saw the ends of his mouth begin to curl; a visceral, wicked grin.
"What is it that makes you want to live?" He explained, slightly lowering the ends of his brows and wincing his eyes. "Why do you keep fighting?"
Heath shivered. "I... I don't know..."
"That night in the forest, I think I saw everything I need to know about you. Let me reframe the question: What do you know about yourself?"
"About... myself?" He gave a slight tilt of his head.
A brief pause, only to be followed by the muffled grumblings of the man, steadily shaking his head. "Never mind. If you're not sure what I mean, then you will. Just give it time."
"How can you be sure I'll learn?"
A soft grin highlighted his face. "I'm always sure."
The boy couldn't help but pierce daggers into the man, and the man couldn't help but do the same back.
They were suddenly at an impasse.
Eofa closed his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck. "Then again, I didn't expect you to cut your hand on the railing. That'll make things to come considerably... harder."
Heath pouted. "Why did you save me then? To ask me questions?"
"I'm glad you asked, kid. I'm going to train you."
His eyes widened. "You're going to what!?"
"Don't play dumb, you heard me. I'll be the one who'll make you. The one who'll build you. The one you'll grow to become, and the one you'll one day surpass."
Heath's eyes both gleamed and clenched at the prospect; Trained by Eofa—the man who saved his life, the man who defeated an eldritch with just one attack. Perhaps through him, everything he had ever dreamed of would become a reality...
But he still had his reservations. His doubts. His fears.
"And what happens if I say no?" He asked, voice soft and low.
Eofa stood from the chair, hand firmly pressed against the table during his rise. Steadily, he leaned forward, so close to Heath that his warm breath could be felt against his cheek.
This time, there was no smile. There was no acknowledgment of any emotion at all.
His face was simply dead as he spoke these words aloud, voice gruff and unclear, raspy and rigid in design:
"You won't."