Sorn furrowed his brow, lately, his brain seemed to be working overtime, rummaging through memories stored in a tightly locked folder.
"So ... You're not French?"
"Hm, can you guess where I'm from?"
"….. Italy?"
"No."
"Sweden? Poland?"
"Wrong."
"Germany?"
Sorn tried to guess from the man's name, Ralf Heinrich—it sounded like a surname commonly used by Germans, which made Ralf laugh amusedly at his guess. He neither confirmed nor denied it, neither right nor wrong— he just chuckled softly, his eyes still carrying that melancholic glimmer. Then, he confidently stepped closer to Sorn, slipping his arms under Sorn's armpits and lifting him to his feet.
Before Sorn could protest, Ralf leaned his head toward Sorn's neck.
"I always want to slow dance to this song."
"Slow dance?"
"... Yeah, you promised. But it's no fun if the person I want to dance with doesn't remember it."
Sorn wasn't someone with a photographic memory, but he wasn't foolish either just because he might have forgotten something from his past. He raised an eyebrow, trying to gather all the man's words since their meeting, noting how he spoke as if he had known Sorn for a long time.
To be honest, there were many people who had interacted with him in the past: his work partners as a child model, peers from his time in the industry, and his high school friends—but one thing was certain— Sorn had never had a close friend, most of the people he met only interacted with him as needed.
So who is this man? Have we met before? Why do you seem so sad every time you hear my answers, as if they bring you deep disappointment…
The song started again from the beginning.
"Et si tu n'existais pas dis-moi pourquoi j'existerais ..." Sorn murmured the lyrics with fluent pronunciation. "Do you know what it means?"
Ralf shook his head but let out a laugh that brushed against Sorn's neck.
"You could find out with a translation app though."
"I know. I was just lying."
"What for?"
"Apr—Cough."
Ralf accidentally pushed him hard, but fortunately, there was a mattress behind Sorn, so his tailbone didn't hit the hard floor— instead, he fell onto the soft surface. Like a man possessed, Ralf hurriedly opened his desk drawer and pulled out tissues and a bottle of medicine, coughing violently, his body shaking again and again. Sorn noticed the tissue he held to his mouth was turning red with blood.
"??????"
As if reacting instinctively, he grabbed Ralf's shoulders, aligning their faces to stare at each other. Ralf's mouth was filled with blood, and Sorn's gaze sharpened.
"What the fuck."
"Shit," Ralf cursed, swatting Sorn's hand away before opening the compartment of the water bottle and swallowing a few pills with a gulp of water. He quickly turned off the vinyl, plunging the room into silence, broken only by Ralf's labored breaths, which made Sorn anxious.
From the start, the man hadn't looked well. Could this be related to his frequent visits to the red room with Hilda?
"What were you doing with Hilda downstairs?"
"..."
"Do you have an illness that requires you to see your doctor regularly?"
"..... It's nothing serious."
Ralf replied, forcing a casual tone as if it wasn't something that needed to be discussed at this moment. He took a fresh tissue to wipe the remnants of blood from his lips and chin, then tossed the bloodstained tissues into the small trash can.
"I'm your assistant."
Sorn asserted, disliking the situation. He didn't like seeing someone who was clearly in pain brushing it off. That was something he absolutely despised— his little sister used to do the same, smiling at Sorn to hide her own pain.
"I need to know what's going on with someone who is supposed to be a leader." He added.
During his time here, Sorn hadn't really had any tasks that could be classified as those of an assistant. They should have discussed this from the start of their meeting, but it felt as though this man was intentionally avoiding it.
"Haha."
"Why are you laughing?"
"It's always like this, I always look pathetic in front of you..."
"....."
Again.
His way of speaking made it seem like they had known each other for a long time. Hearing the word "always" confused Sorn. Had he ever seen a man looking pathetic? Never, or maybe he just didn't remember. This made him frustrated. If this man had indeed known him for a long time and they had interacted more than just as work partners or had a friendship, why was he tiptoeing around sharing what he remembered? At the very least, he should try to remind him, to tell him where they had met—did this man hate him because Sorn didn't remember, thus playing this petty game? Anyway, he hoped this man would speak up properly.
"Have we met before?"
Ralf's eyes twitched. He sank back onto the sofa, leaning weakly while lifting both feet off the ground.
"If I said we had, you wouldn't remember, so what's the point?"
Right, this guy is just being petty. Childish leader.
"If I forgot, you should try to remind me."
"If you don't remember, it means I'm not important..."
"Dude...."
"Hmmph."
Ralf turned his head away sulkily, hiding his face in his hands. Watching the childish behavior of this grown man who had just huffed loudly, one of Sorn's eyes twitched. He felt like shouting for the man to stop acting like a girl in a bad mood after finding out her boyfriend forgot their anniversary.
Fine, if he wanted to keep sulking at Sorn, he would wait until he remembered this man, or maybe until this man finally told him about himself and where they had met.
Back to the initial reason he came to see Ralf— to ask something he hadn't had the chance to during his time in this nameless group.
"Dean said you're immune to the virus from zombie bites, did he tell the truth?"
"..... That's true. Ah, so Dean has already told you."
"So what he said is your secret .... It's not a lie?"
"If you don't believe me, I'll show you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?"
"You're coming with me."
Sorn's eyes widened, finally, he could get out of this building.
"..... But I think, ugh...." Ralf coughed again, covering half his face with his hand. "This isn't the right time for us to have a normal conversation."
His voice was so hoarse, and he repeatedly stifled coughs until he couldn't hold back anymore and rushed to grab more tissues. Blood came out every time he coughed.
His hand hesitated on the door handle, and Sorn turned his head to see the man's back, which trembled occasionally. Was this man really okay? That was a lot of blood.
As if sensing that Sorn still hadn't left his room, Ralf chuckled softly, "Sorn, rest. We'll be very busy tomorrow."
"..... Okay ... Good night."
It was strange.
Sorn wasn't the type to say "good night" to anyone except his sister. This man might be the only one he expressed it to in such an unexpectedly gentle manner. Sorn genuinely wanted him to have a good night's sleep so he would wake up feeling okay. He couldn't quite understand why he felt this way— he shouldn't care about a man whose name he barely knew. Instead, he should focus on his responsibilities as a group member. Perhaps it was those space cadet blue eyes, filled with a familiar melancholy, that had caught his attention.