For several long moments the dark-eyed deviant merely continues to stare towards the girl, features contorted into a frown of distinct displeasure, though it is hardly at the woman herself. He simply does not understand where he is or why, he does not remember how he got here, his fractured mind so desperately confused and yet it results in little more then frustration as his dark gaze flicks from the girl, to the sky and back again. The way in which Raven moves to wipe the tears from her gaze rapidly seems to draw his attention, the simple movement of her hand seeming to fixate his gaze though he hardly understands why she is crying. Tears rarely make sense to the boy, he simply cannot make the connection between any sort of emotion and this bizarre ability to leak that seems to afflict women far more than men. For several moments longer his fathomless dark gaze rests upon her face before the sudden eruption of colour across the sky as the light of the dawn breaks out sees his eyes drawn upwards. He is oblivious to the moment lost and perhaps there is some sense of peace in that. He cannot mourn for what he does not miss, this Tobias entirely free of any sense of longing for the creature he cannot be any longer. He does not desperately try to grasp his sanity, nor does he stare near longingly at his companion in some hope that she might recount to him everything he had done or said in these moments of shifted minds. Tobias simply- exists. It is his own sense of peace perhaps. It protects him.

Her words see his attention return to Birdie in full, the sight of her lying beside him, against him, seeming to stir a smile from him all the same, the look lopsided and boyish yet there all the same despite its unusual crookedness. Despite his utter confusion at how he had come to be here he is content all the same in her company, twirling that single loose strand of hair about between his fingers. After all, it is she he trusts above so many others, even the instinct of his mind assuring him that if she is calm, then he too, should be calm. The brightness bothers his gaze, though he turns his eyes upward all the same as Birdie speaks of the colours, the question in her voice prompting a response as he simply nods. He can see the colours, after all, he simply dislikes the brightness of them and indeed perhaps misunderstands entirely as to why Birdie takes pleasure in them at all. He cannot perceive beauty, not truly, not as others do. She squeezes his hand all the same, dark eyes shifting to look down towards her hand before seeming to decide he is content with this touch and the manner in which she curls against him, Birdie alone permitted such contact, such closeness.

Her attempts to explain to him what has occurred however seem to achieve little more than an utterly blank look. He cannot understand the past tense in which she speaks, telling him of things he has done, though he has no memory of doing them. His mind so often incapable of memories of even those things at which he was present and yet, in other moments, of remembering in clear details those things which occurred so many years ago. It is, perhaps, the eternal mystery of his mind. He continues to recline upon the blanket, though he does not understand the purpose of it, merely mimicking the woman beside him in what she does. For several moments still his dark eyes linger upon the sky, though whether he sees it, or simply stares can hardly be said. His youthful features frown once more as Birdie speaks, his gaze shifting to meet her own as he scowls, her words, seemingly, holding no meaning to him as he merely continues to look towards the sky. There are several moments of silence, the boy seemingly content to scowl, frustration etching upon his features as if he struggles near internally to perceive her question.

"Oh."

He speaks suddenly, features seeming to lighten as he snickers as if in delight to a voice of a being he cannot see, head turned towards the curly-haired woman whom lies beside him still.

"I...do know....yes."

He nods again, as if seeking to confirm such a thing, even if only to himself, before those broken, stuttered lyrics erupt into the dawn air once more.

"Today....Birdie is......my mate."

It is a simple and single word he has never before used. Mate. A word of significant meaning to any Were- something far more than simply the 'girlfriend' title to which he has afforded her before and come to understand. Though where and how he has learned of this next level of titles remains to be seen. He had promised her, once, that he would marry her one day and while perhaps this is not quite the same he is content to offer her...a step towards that. The shaggy haired deviant seeming to desire....something more from her today as he frowns a moment more.

"and Birdie will....be mate....tomorrow and next day....and next day too....yes?"

madness, as you know, is like gravity: all it takes is a little push