Once Link has settled his bleeding ward down, Riku backtracks to the door, shutting it securely so no more of the precious warmth in the tiny cabin can escape. The couch can do, it's less easy to clean than the kitchen floor, but it's more comfortable. Besides, Quentin is a magician, and Riku... well, he's a glorified MP battery.

But what's this guy's deal? Making Link do all the work? He's got hands, doesn't he? The truth is, he can't, not with what's left of his other arm under that blanket draped over his shoulders, not with the lantern tucked underneath it. It's all in some vain attempt to conceal his ailment, even though there's so many who are also suffering, there are habits Riku finds hard to break. The slitted pupils, the reflective irises that shine in the lantern-light are bad enough. They remind him too much of...

Past mistakes. Riku heads briskly into the kitchen and pulls open the refrigerator, grabs the pitcher, a cup from the cupboard. Fresh juice can be tough to come by, but that doesn't matter, he grabs the bottle and pours its contents into the tall glass. Apple. It's a lot for how sweet it is, but if that pale appearance is any indicator, the boy with Sora's memories might need it. He considers a call to Miss Lutece. Is her artificial blood transfusion stuff operational yet? Does he even know this guy's blood type? Unlikely...

"What happened?" he says, returning.