TIME OUT (TANAU)

He'd been in this place for a few weeks, maybe a month, maybe just a few days. Either way he didn't remember, and his concept of time had become completely thrown off. Sometimes he woke up in the middle of the night, or in the depths of the afternoon, or the break of dawn. He'd resigned from the idea of a healthy sleep routine and just did whatever felt right.

The carers had told him he needed to go out and meet new people. Isaiah had no idea how to do that. Back in his home world he had been confined to a hospital bed for years on end, and his only way of socialising had been through a VR game. Interacting without a persona, face-to-actual-face was something he was inept at.

They had bought him a bus ticket into town, and given him the phone number of a nearby staff member who would be available if anything went particularly wrong. It had been a bad idea to withhold the reminder of his frequent seizures but there was nothing he could do now.

Armed with a decent chunk of cash and thankful for the rather flat terrain of downtown – and the semi-electric wheelchair they'd been given – he made a stop at a small, frilly-windowed cafe tucked away in a quaint alley. He was wrapped up in a sweater and a scarf, some fluffy gloves hiding almost everything that screamed 'non-organic', except his eyes.

With a cup of hot chocolate and a slice of lemon cake – that he was regretting already -, Isaiah to not get lost in his thoughts, wondering if he should call the number he'd been given and go back to Yarrow.

It was quiet for the longest time. The sound of cars and seagulls were plenty, alongside the clink of tea cups and the hiss of hot water from inside the cafe as coffees and teas were poured, but it still felt silent. The creak of the wheelchair under him whenever he shifted became a bolt of thunder, and he was shocked into stillness, looking around and finding no one glaring at him for being so disruptive. It had to be his nerves.

He didn't like lemon cake. He wasn't even that fond of hot chocolate. They were his sister's choice of sweet treat, and he'd ordered it on a whim. As if he was buying for her. Only when he'd had the tray on his lap and rolled up to the most convinient table had he realised, and everything had become a little greyer.

In the solitude he was finding a tranquil calm, a place of quiet refelction, staring off into the middle distance not quite sure what to do with himself. A voice broke through and he jumped, chair rattling and his eyes shot open wide. Fortunately it hadn't been too dramatic, nobody was staring that he could see.

He took a few seconds to calm his nerves before forcing a smile. "The seat's free," he answered, bunching himself up and pulling his drink closer. He was overtaken by the realisation he would end up sitting in silence. Socialness was not a gift of his. "What's your name?" The sentence propelled itself from Isaiah's mouth, and his cheeks burned as he looked away, lips pursed.