"I hate pickles." Daehyun says automatically, his nose scrunching distastefully at the green slices piled generously on Youngjae's plate. His friend gives him a look of utter shock, gawking at him like an idiot.

"What, did I hear that right? Jung Daehyun, the actual bottomless pit of all things food, doesn't like pickles, a food?" he says with unnecessarily wide hand gestures as if to illustrate how greatly his mind has been blown. Daehyun blinks, brows furrowed.

"No... I don't hate them, I just... I never eat them, not usually." he says, pressing his lips together. That was odd, where did that come from? He's never had a preference, not that he can consciously recall. Maybe this is one of the things he picked up in the last three years, an old habit that resurfaced at the sight of those wavy green slices. He still doesn't see why that would be a habit of his though. He doesn't dislike them. He has no opinion of them really. He'll eat it if it's present but won't miss them if they're not. Odd.

This must be news to Youngjae; he doesn't seem to immediately understand the new memory, or whatever this is.

"Hmm, I don't think you've ever told me that before." he muses thoughtfully, stabbing a few of the pickles cautiously. He peers at them strangely as if to discover what in the little vinegar soaked cucumber could have triggered the new information. Daehyun, in spite of his puzzlement, grins at the dumb show before him.

"Stop staring at your food like that, if you keep that up you'll have to take it on a date first before you can eat it." Daehyun jokes stabbing some of his own food, greasy pasta he's grown quite fond of. He knows somewhere in the back of his mind he'd get teased for this, maybe even playfully chided at. Him eating fatty, greasy pasta when he can have whatever he wants, someone would find that funny.

His eyes flit to the fountain in the middle of the square, it's gurgling still within earshot. It's her; she'd be the one to do it.

As a light breeze passes through the tight little square the sound of wind chimes just over his shoulder he swears he can hear her laughing, the happy ringing of her laughter after a particularly offensive joke at his expense. Not that he'd actually get offended, he'd just roll his eyes and throw something at her, maybe a fork full of the greasy pasta.

He stares glumly at his food, wondering if that's really how it'd been or if he's humoring his fantasies, leading himself on to believe he'd really been that happy once.

"Hey," Youngjae stops eating to assess why his eating champion of a friend hasn't even made a dent in his food yet, concerned, "I thought you said you were okay. Are you feeling dizzy? Are you nauseous? Any pain? I need to know, Dae. Come on, spit it out, what's wrong?" he demands food forgotten. His only focus Daehyun's crestfallen expression. He curses how he can't hide his emotions well anymore, Youngjae told him about how superhumanly he could keep his expression controlled. He could've cleared out the world's best poker players with his own unbeatable poker face. Now he can barely keep a straight face, the slightest bit of emotion tilting it drastically in that direction.

Daehyun sighs. He knows he can't avoid this question, not after the downward curve of his lips have given him away. Although, he's lost the control of his expression, he can still lie through his teeth without any sign of doing so. It's almost contradictory how well he can lie but can't do much else with his face than keep it smooth for the lie. It makes him wonder what kind of things he was doing in the blank portion of his life. Youngjae says he was some kind of collector of sorts, a trader of some kind, but never can describe exactly what he did.

Daehyun figures it's better that way, instead of knowing what he did and trying to pick it up again, he can just start anew at whatever part-time job his studies will allow. Then again, he's not currently working right now (not that he needs it, his parents left him quite a fortune to his name when they passed sometime in the three years he can't remember), nor studying. He's on break from school. Not just for a month or so like the scheduled breaks entitle no, he's unofficially dropped out for a while. Whatever he'd been in the past didn't require extensive knowledge of how a curve on a graph is some kind of equation or how the human mind works when put in several hypothetical situations (he found both things remedial almost too easy when taught them and the latter a slap to the face). He decided school isn't for him, maybe in the future but, not now. Not when he can barely remember his life, who he is.

"I'm upset about how small my portion is, look at it." Daehyun says poking at his very large serving of pasta. Okay so, he uses the fact that he can lie impressively to his advantage and has neglected to tell Youngjae about it, making it a vital tool for him to avoid any breach into how he's actually feeling.

Youngjae's expression transitions from concerned, to confused, to goofy in a matter of seconds. He laughs loudly, even hitting the table once for good measure. Daehyun grins, relieved he bought the lie. He makes another mental note to learn to control his expressions again, keep his emotions in check.

Somehow he doesn't think it'll be too hard to do.