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It was hope that forced Alfonse to stand a little taller against the gravity of his past. Uncertainty remained within his mind as he took a deep breath to steel his nerves. Bruno had a feeling that he knew what Alfonse was thinking; Bruno found his own read to be correct, as Alfonse laced his question with the faintest touch of a plea: “What are you searching for?” (Can you stay with me?)
He answered, matter-of-fact. This was not the right Alfonse for him; he was not the right Zacharias, either. “A cure.”
“We found one here.” The pitch was starting to construe itself within his mind — clear through the confidence that Alfonse was finding in his own quiet speech. “You can be cured here, Zach.”