[He considers asking what has had Lazarus doubting his Other. But does he want to know? It has to be unpleasant. He's had enough unpleasantness for now. Perhaps another time.]

It was safe. And I mattered. [The last statement could have come off as an admission of the vulnerability he's experienced all his life, something he wouldn't have wanted to reveal. But it's already a known fact. Lazarus no doubt understands that and has for a long time. Those who suffer abuse frequently feel that they have no worth.

[His fingers gradually wind their way out of his hair.] I don't know much. I've only had four: three memories, one object -- a child's toy. He grew up in that place, believed to be capable of something great. The letter N in elaborate font on a computer screen. That he was also looked after by an old man called Watari. All indications do support the idea that we should have known one another, but I've no specific recollection of you at this point in time.