It doesn't really dawn on him until he sits up, and sees the guy sprawled in the chair in the corner. He's young, but he has a look that makes it hard to pin an age number on him. There's an uncocked gun in his lap, and he's wearing a blue bandanna -- Chris can imagine the white fleur-de-lis on the back without having to see it.
He remembers, vaguely.
"Hi," the guy says, looking up.
Chris stares.
"Morning," the guy says, a little more cautiously.
Chris assumes he's part of Joey's cause. He's not far off the mark.
"Did you want something," the guy asks, but there's no inflection to his voice.
He has a heavy accent, Chris thinks. His Ws sound hairlipped; 'th' comes out as a hiss.
"No," Chris says, even though his stomach disagrees.
"Oh," is the reply, a little crestfallen. Chris imagines it must be pretty boring to have to watch someone for hours at a time, especially when they aren't doing anything. Sleeping. The guy rearranges himself in the chair, slinging one leg over the arm, and puts the gun on the floor next to his foot. He looks uncomfortable.
"Actually," Chris says, but now he can't think of what it was he wanted.
"Did you know they're going to read it."
"Eh?" Chris asks.
"The manifesto." The guy smiles, but it doesn't touch his eyes. Chris isn't sure what manifesto this is. "I'm Justin." Chris doubts it, because he can barely pronounce it.
"Ah," he says. "That's nice." He returns the smile, and Justin's own fades.
"It is," he says curtly, head moving in a sharp nod. He sets his jaw, and Chris can see the muscles in his shoulders bunching.
He thinks Justin looks like the kind of person who would kiss you as he slits your throat, to ease you into death, but foremost so that he can taste your blood as it leaves your body.
Chris imagines he already hates Justin.
Justin smiles again, a quick flash of teeth that's supposed to be friendly. Chris doesn't find it so. "I can get you breakfast," Justin says.
"Sure," Chris says, and lies back down on the bed. He thinks this captivity thing could get boring quickly, but he knows the point is to keep him alive, because no one has much use for a dead foreign diplomat.
He hopes.
There's a shuffle, followed by a click, and when he sits up again, Justin is gone. He stares at the ceiling.