[The gesture of giving food isn't quite as meaningful here as in their own world, where there's already a buffet of free food sitting in front of them that Ken's been gorging himself on, and which Chrome's simply borrowed food off of to hand to him directly. The impact is somewhat lessened. It's not an apple, either, although without memories of Mukuro, an apple probably wouldn't have meant anything special to Ken anyway - not on any conscious level, at least.
But it's clear his brain has still screeched to a halt, regardless. A cute girl is giving him food? And a napkin? And talking to him voluntarily, without obvious disgust? These things are both noteworthy, and totally outside his realm of experience. (Granted, his realm of experience is incredibly small, with no memories to build off of, but he finds he has no instinctual reaction to reach for here. If he bothered thinking about it, he could probably come to the conclusion that this isn't a situation he's ever been familiar with.
The half-eaten sandwich in his hands gets dropped on the table as he grabs the napkin and tart, one to each hand. He stuffs the entire tart into his mouth - a messy process - and then scrubs roughly at his face with the napkin.
He's turning faintly red, but it's hard to tell if that's embarrassment or if he's struggling not to choke on a flaky pastry that, before cramming, was slightly larger than his mouth.
Ken's every bit as smooth and graceful as Chrome remembers.]
no subject
But it's clear his brain has still screeched to a halt, regardless. A cute girl is giving him food? And a napkin? And talking to him voluntarily, without obvious disgust? These things are both noteworthy, and totally outside his realm of experience. (Granted, his realm of experience is incredibly small, with no memories to build off of, but he finds he has no instinctual reaction to reach for here. If he bothered thinking about it, he could probably come to the conclusion that this isn't a situation he's ever been familiar with.
The half-eaten sandwich in his hands gets dropped on the table as he grabs the napkin and tart, one to each hand. He stuffs the entire tart into his mouth - a messy process - and then scrubs roughly at his face with the napkin.
He's turning faintly red, but it's hard to tell if that's embarrassment or if he's struggling not to choke on a flaky pastry that, before cramming, was slightly larger than his mouth.
Ken's every bit as smooth and graceful as Chrome remembers.]