"Hm?" What are the notebooks?, he hears; he glances not around the room, but at a couple of the newest-looking books, on the (pine, of course) coffee table. His face sets.

"Ah, that's a long story. I'm not sure we should get into it now. What if I bring you some soup?—I won't insult you with my coffee, of course."

Let him make you soup, Ren; he so desperately wants to help. Plus, if he leaves the room, Ren will be able to get into the notebooks, many of which lie open. They are diaries of his time here, all depressingly short, all ending with increasingly-vague summaries of conversations where he learned something important, and then put down the book, and forgot—not just the conversation, but the book's very existence. He's had the same idea over and over and... how many times?