A soft, gentle feeling came to him.
"Hey, hey!" A woman's voice seeped through the noise, breaking through the stage.
"Are you ok!?" she shouted, her hand gripping the boy's arm.
He opened his eyes.
Before him, the barista, holding him as her upper body hovered over the table.
"Is everything ok?" she asked, her voice slightly calmer than before. "You were phased out. You didn't respond, no matter what I said."
He rubbed his eyes and glanced at the corner of the table—the phone. It was still there.
After remembering his objective, he blinked a few times and shifted his head slightly to her hand on his upper arm. He blinked again, slowly touching the bottom of his eyes until they came back halfway to his irises.
He knew he couldn't reach his goal unless he participated in the act of being human. Someone who's curious about things others care about, pretending to share that interest. He had to become someone like that.
His lips parted.
"How long was I out?" he asked bluntly, uncaring about the details the woman said to him while he was gazing into the distance.
The woman steadily let the boy's hand go and pulled herself back.
"It was only around twenty to thirty seconds," she said, pausing briefly before she continued. "But it was super scary. You didn't move even when I poked you with my finger. You only stared with a blank expression while you were looking at the table."
After hearing her summary, he tried to steer his mind away from re-entering whatever thoughts overcame him.
'What happened before?' He wasn't worried about that. Now, he had a mission he couldn't fail.
It was on her side of the table, so it was impossible for him to stretch his arm that much without being noticed by her. Getting up was also insufficient. He had to cross out all the options that involved physical movement. They were too conspicuous. He could wait until she'd need to use the restroom, but that too was lacking. If anything, he wanted to check the time right now. A plan revolving around waiting was simply idiotic.
What else was there? He calmly observed, thinking what could save him with half-closed eyes. Every time something's about to seep through his unconsciousness, his eyes would reset, blinking a few times before finding back the exact half of his irises.
He cleared his mind again, leaving only the thought of his phone there.
When his heart starts over-preparing him, he'd put his hand to the left side of his chest, twisting his hoodie, only focusing on the rhythm of his breathing until his mind was clear enough to cool him down.
He searched for one solution after another, all the while maintaining a surface-level conversation with her on autopilot.
If she asked him about some trivial things, he responded. If it was about the weather, he mumbled something out. Whatever the topic was, he did what he could and prepared the lines and, like a machine, delivered the results until the other party was satisfied enough to switch to the next one. He had no idea what she was talking about or what he even said. He could only see what he had to do in order to progress to the next task. Though even if his mind was too occupied to focus on anything else, he still had half of his ears open in case she'd say something that could make his job easier.
Surprisingly, that's what happened.
The woman looked at him with concern as she said, "Is there somethin' botherin' you?"
"Nothing in particular," he replied, his mind still elsewhere.
She tapped on the table with her long nails, hesitant to continue. Then inhaled and exhaled.
"It's just… What happened?"
"What you mean?"
"You…" she began, hesitating a little before continuing. "You talked to me with no hesitation. No stutter, no 'uhs' or 'uhms.' You didn't even pause. You just talked." Her voice rose.
"I see," he replied immediately. "That's good. I don't see a problem with that."
She frowned.
"No, that's not 'good.' It feels like I'm talking to a different person, not you." She raised her voice, almost screaming.
"I'm here. That's me, no one else," he said, his voice calm and collected.
"No, this isn't you! Why are you talking like this? Did something happen? You can tell me; I'm here to listen."
"Nothing happened. This is how I am."
She looked at him with pity in her eyes. It was too much for her to see him that way.
Watching her sorrowful eyes, something from the inside steered.
He asked, "You think I'm pathetic?"
She gasped.
"I-I never said that."
"No need. I can see it from your eyes," he said, his face expressionless.
He had no emotion in that voice. No texture or anything one needs to fulfill the requirements of becoming a part of humanity.
His voice was as flat as his character development.
She watched him.
That face, why was it so calm? Those eyes, why did they look so natural? How could he stay there like none of this had meant anything?
While trying to understand him, her eyes narrowed.
Tears welled up. It was painful to see someone she cared for behave like that. Even if she knew him only a little, and her care was about as strong as a mother's care for her child, she couldn't hold it.
She cried.
Her warm tears flowed down her soft and rounded cheeks.
"How…how can you keep that face…? You're hurting… Why…why don't you see that?" Her tears devoured her completely.
He responded without delay. "I don't know what you talking about."
Her eyes narrowed further. Tears glistened.
She glanced at his lifeless expression.
"…Why? Why won't your eyes show pain…?" Her voice broke.
Waiting three seconds, he said, "There's nothing left to show." His tone cold. Eyes unchanged.
Her face started to deform from letting her emotions take the reins. Eventually, she could no longer bear the weight of it. She caved in. Her nose ran, mucus running down the groove above her lip, the salty taste reaching her tongue.
She didn't care. She couldn't afford to be distracted.
"What's there you can't show?" she blurted. Sniff. "…Why do you keep everything inside…? Please… Please ju…just let it out… All of it… I am here to listen. I can't bear to watch you…behave like that…"
She cried harder.
Her entire face was glossy with her tears. Her uniform, the chair she was sitting on, and the floor beneath her were all drenched in her tears.
He just sat there, half of his eyelids covering the upper half of his irises. He looked at the woman's weeping with indifference. His body no longer overheated. His breath wasn't forced. The beating of his heart about normal, just slightly below. No thoughts rushed inside of him. Nothing was there anymore.
Only one thing lingered. The phone. Everything else was of no importance.
And yet, even knowing the best course of action would've been to steer the conversation to his favor and to take control of her actions so he could get his phone back without uttering a word he wanted it, he couldn't do that.
It doesn't matter what that phone meant; he couldn't allow himself to fully depart from ever becoming a human. If he crosses that line now, he won't ever come back. This wasn't about having a heart. He just didn't want others to be involved in his mess. That's all. He was no martyr nor a kind soul, just a person who knew where he belonged.