He wrings his hands together, shifting on the balls of his feet. “S’alright,” he replies, and he means it. Sarah is nice; he knows she won’t hurt him (although years of MaMa’s torture makes his body react as if he thinks otherwise).

“That s-sounds fun, but I’m really t-tired right now. M-maybe tomorrow?” He tilts his head slightly and a few strands of hair fall over his left eye. It makes a quiet whirr as it looks through his hair at you.