Maruki notices that gesture but he doesn't reach out. Not yet. It felt wrong, too wrong on so many levels that it left him spiralling for answers that seemed out of reach.

Yet they were right before him. His flesh and blood in some other world.

"Pyschologically speaking," he starts- keeping his tone even and gentle, "That isn't unusual. Our memories are deeply tied to our emotions, and they’re not perfect recordings of what happened. They’re like stories we write and rewrite- depending on the circumstances we are forced to face."

He looks down at his food, suddenly not feeling as hungry as he should.

The question however, catches him off guard.

"...I have. Sort of," he squaints as he recalls through his memories. "It turned out horrible when I first attempted it so I never made it again."

"Why do you ask?"