[That may not have been the most polite way to respond, but he's still a bit too frazzled to filter his natural tendency for bluntness.]
I'm Lu Meng. [He raises a hand and shakes his head, declining the fruit. The bag is carefully pushed back to Red, with care taken to avoid accidentally brushing even the boy's fingers. He...should probably eat something, yes, but the boy's kindness is honestly a little too much to take at this point and he doesn't quite have the appetite for it or any kind of food at this point.
But Red's question, that he can focus on. He takes another sip of water, as if it could clear the fog that's blanketing itself around his mind.]
I'm not sure. I was just walking. [It's a struggle, and it's slow-going, like brushing off layers and layers of grey film and dust, but it's slowly coming back to him.] And then...
[His eyes widen as a vital piece clicks into place, and the hand that's gripping Red's bottle tightens around the neck. It's no small force, and even with the bottle being a sturdy one there's a tell-tale crack sound, suggesting that this man, even with what seems to be wounded hands, has no small amount of strength inside him.]
A phantom. [He hisses, pure anger and hatred and malice dripping from his voice. The ground underneath him cracks and the grass withers away, as if blasted by a strong heatwave.]
no subject
[That may not have been the most polite way to respond, but he's still a bit too frazzled to filter his natural tendency for bluntness.]
I'm Lu Meng. [He raises a hand and shakes his head, declining the fruit. The bag is carefully pushed back to Red, with care taken to avoid accidentally brushing even the boy's fingers. He...should probably eat something, yes, but the boy's kindness is honestly a little too much to take at this point and he doesn't quite have the appetite for it or any kind of food at this point.
But Red's question, that he can focus on. He takes another sip of water, as if it could clear the fog that's blanketing itself around his mind.]
I'm not sure. I was just walking. [It's a struggle, and it's slow-going, like brushing off layers and layers of grey film and dust, but it's slowly coming back to him.] And then...
[His eyes widen as a vital piece clicks into place, and the hand that's gripping Red's bottle tightens around the neck. It's no small force, and even with the bottle being a sturdy one there's a tell-tale crack sound, suggesting that this man, even with what seems to be wounded hands, has no small amount of strength inside him.]
A phantom. [He hisses, pure anger and hatred and malice dripping from his voice. The ground underneath him cracks and the grass withers away, as if blasted by a strong heatwave.]