That's a question that makes reality sink its teeth in a little further, shaking Mikazuki from his reverie at getting to touch real paper. He'd only ever seen it a few times before now. Home seems so far, but its influence is heavy. That's right. Abundance was everywhere here. In trees, plants, water, fire. All the trees meant that they could afford to produce paper and books like this. They'd only feel precious to a few. With a light touch, much lighter than it looks like Mikazuki is capable of, he runs his fingertips over the covers.

"No," he replies, voice dropping. "I came down from the moon too."

A refugee. Despite the lowering of his voice, Mikazuki supposes he feels a little lighter for knowing the boy across from him is also in his situation. Atsushi's offer makes a meandering, hesitant noise bear down in his throat, books tipping in his grasp.

"Mikazuki," is his way of introducing himself likewise before continuing. "It's okay. I probably wouldn't be able to read them well."

Matter-of-fact, unabashed about having to admit that as a way of declining.

"But if you're taking them somewhere, I can carry a few."