Without a thought, Eleven had followed the sense of light to the meditation rooms, hadn't considered what he might do beyond locating the source of it.

He should probably be less surprised to be recognized.

Eleven steps fully into the room after a wooden moment, then slides the door closed behind him. His memory is improving; a name lingers around his tongue- a roll of pleasantly soft syllables that will come together before too long.

For that one moment of recognition, it feels like he's looking into a mirror.

A shiver catches him then, crawling over his skin and steadily sapping his strength as his limbs lower him to the floor to sit.

"We were friends," he says quietly, as certain of that as he is of one or two other things he knows without asking. Another chill shrugs through his shoulders. "..How are you?"