The smile worked to calm him, and he lost some of the suspicion still floating in his head. This person was like his Kirschwassers, maybe. Just people that were nice. That helped. Albedo couldn't claim to know--his dealings with people like that were limited to the past week of his life. Either way, he lost the tightness in him and half turned towards Angel.

"Both?" he asked, wrinkling his nose. "That's confusing. Is paper called something different, too?" Things were so strange here! He'd have a lot to get used to.

The man's laugh was interesting. Albedo had spent most of his life watching people, and quiet laughs like that usually came from people who were used to being alone. At least, feeling alone. He let that thought gravitate in his mind, not putting much into it. His laugh, when he returned it, was more bitter. "That place was never home," he responded, shaking his head.

Albedo looked up at Angel, eyes clear with, if not belief, a kind of faith all the same. "Home is within people," the boy said. "Everything else is just things." And because of that, home being a place within and not outside, Albedo knew he would never find that again. Rubedo was home. And Rubedo had left him.

The boy stopped tracing the lines and just placed his hand on the notebook, staring downwards. Why couldn't... Why couldn't he just hate Rubedo? Why did it have to hurt so much?