He drank most of his meals, so he didn't find that this one would be much of a problem. He handed her the glass that he had poured for her and watched as she tottered off to another room, clearly leaving him to his own devices. He remained in the kitchen rather than follow her, loitering around near the fridge before he simply seated himself on the floor and leaned against the cupboards. It was quiet here, his glass of milk set on a knee and looking around.

It was strange to like this place over the others. Was it because of the past he couldn't remember? He didn't know, but it was cool and quiet, and he quickly drank his glass of milk and found the whole thing very novel. It tasted like something other than what he would have expected his own vomit to taste like. It wasn't sweet or sour or acidic. It just was something cool and nice, and he almost regretted drinking it quickly. He also noted that it didn't satisfy him as much as the other drinks he was given.

Was this a normal life? Sitting around drinking milk, having no mission and just following around the one person that seemed to tolerate him. He figured it was better than his old life. This one had stuff he could drink when he wanted after all and not just drinking out of public fountains or puddles.