The Music Room - Ereri/Riren (SNK)

-Day 3-

As I slide my blue tray along the granite countertop, waiting in line just like everyone else as if we're in elementary school, the gray-haired woman behind it doesn't speak to me as she serves up breakfast. No one does, even as they're chattering away amongst each other - with themselves, with the people behind the counter, with the meal assistants helping out those who can't even get food on their own. And I'm okay with this.

The gray-haired woman - her name is Lillith - was by far the most persistent in attempting to get me to be social than anyone, even the nurses. She'd greet me in a friendly way every morning as I did just this, sliding my tray along as I'm served fairly mediocre food, asking me how I am and what my plans for the day were. Of course, she does this with everyone, but I had always ignored her, even sent her dirty looks so she'd stop talking to me. After three or so months, she finally gave up.

As much as the nurses hate it and still (on occasion) attempt to convince me to make friends or at least an acquaintance, the only social interaction I've had in the past two years has been between myself and the nurses or an occasional phone call from one of my siblings, and those are rarer than a woman giving birth to quadruplets.

But of course I am reminded that this has suddenly changed when I hear a hoarse yet enthusiastic voice calling my name from across the cafeteria. I'm already seated in my usual spot - at the table furthest away from the food buffet, in the corner near the wall of windows looking out at part of the garden. I look up to find none other than Eren, that disgustingly genuine grin spread out on his pale face reserved only for me as he saunters in my direction, his cane in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other. He's followed by one of the meal assistants, carrying a tray full of food for him. I stifle my sigh and do little more to regard his presence than lift my brows with the subtlest of nods.

"Can I sit?" he asks, already placing his glass of juice on the table.

"Sure," I mumble before I can stop myself or even think of telling him I'd rather be alone. Though, as he does sink into the seat across from me, I realize this is just my habitual thought process and that I, a bit unsettlingly, don't mind as much as he settles in to eat with me.

"So," he huffs once the meal assistant has scurried back in the direction of the food counter, "how's life?"

I lift my brows and scrutinize him. "Do you mean that ironically?" I ask.

He chuckles as he dips into his eggs. "Oh, right. You're a pessimist." He shovels a fork full of food into his mouth and I scowl in disgust; he picks up on this right away and grins even wider (with his lips closed, to my fortune).

I resist the urge to roll my eyes and pick away at my own food - particularly the fruit - and we eat in silence for a moment. It's expected to be awkward, but somehow with the background noise of other patients bustling around - silverware clanking against plates, idle conversation my ears pick up bits and pieces of, feet shuffling along carpet and a cough here and there - it isn't. Eren gazes out the window admiringly, his seafoam eyes drinking in the sight of the garden that I am all too used to and have been unimpressed by for months. His youthful gaze, of course, is filled with wonder, fascination, curiosity at the plethora of plants and flowers.

"Do you ever go out there?" he asks me, not removing his gaze from the window and gesturing to the window with his fork.

"Not really."

"Have you ever been out there?"

"Once or twice when I first moved in, yes. It's peaceful."

"So why don't you go anymore?"

I can't think of a good answer and simply shrug. I haven't been for at least two entire seasons. When autumn comes around, the garden, like anything else, fades into dormancy and the cold is too bitter to stand for too long, and of course winter is even worse. Now that spring is upon us, the plants are making their reappearance or being replaced by the few gardeners keeping up with it. I hadn't had any mind or desire to venture back out there, especially when it's required to be under supervision.