“I just…really like it…Mr. Reigen,” Mob whispered. He hugged the mug closer. “Thank you.”
“It—don’t mention it. It’s milk.” Then his voice dropped to an airy whisper. “It’s…just milk…”
Reigen did not know what expression he wore as he watched Mob raise the cup and drink the rest of it, something slack, something just a bit shocked. Something that maybe fit the ache he felt tightening his throat.
He couldn’t fathom what sort of world the kid had just escaped, but he knew now he didn’t want to. And he didn’t want to make Mob relive it, not if it was something so horrific that a single glass of warm milk could move him to tears.
“Here,” Reigen said, sliding his mug across the oaken table. “Have mine too…”
