Dietre found a loose thread on his sleeve and had begun to tug experimentally, seeing if it would come out, or just grow as his shirt unraveled. It was something to do to keep his mind empty, but it was hard, emotions were so frightfully overwhelming, once they got a hold of him it took quite an effort to get back to that dull flat line. He had finally stopped crying, at least, he could feel where his tears had dried on his skin.
'How about you get that cat.' A jolt went through the boy and he turned his head to stare at Francis in surprise. If the man hoped to avoid raising himself up in Dietre's eyes, whatever plan he had just backfired. D stared at him as if he were seeing him for the first time, or rather, as if he had finally noticed him.
"...Really?" There was a trembling hope in his voice that bordered on being endearingly pathetic. He blinked as Mr. Drake got up from the couch and stepped away, his eyes never leaving him. The boy seemed dazed, not able to completely comprehend this good news when he was still reeling from a mental breakdown.
"I'll take good care of him." He sounded so earnest, real heartfelt determination. He blinked again, losing focus and getting spacey again. "...The boy said his name is Sydney and he likes to sleep..." The fact that Dietre remembered this information only proved how much he had wanted the kitten, and that he thought of it even after resigning himself to not being able to have it.
He had asked Francis to stay with him, but the man was leaving, that was bad, but he said he could have the cat, and that was good. Being both hurt and happy at the same time only made him confused and disoriented. He didn't try to stop Mr. Drake, just sat there gazing up at him, looking worn out and lost.