this is my promise to

These streets are… he falters. He does not know these streets, not at all.Venti scrambles to find the nearest reflective object. He finds it on a giant metal-like wagon painted bright red, the glass dark but clear enough to see his reflection. With the rough texture of concrete under his feet, he realizes he doesn't even have shoes on. What greets him as his reflection throws that realization at the bottom of his priorities.He is a child."Fuck," Venti breathes, voice high in disbelief.