There's no tension in his body language as he stares out into a night sky that he doesn't recognize, at least, entirely still and in no rush to find a conversation topic. The silence suits him just fine, having spent the better part of the last two years fully isolated from humanity.

Not too many stimulating conversations are held at the end of a knife. A few, maybe, but they don't tend to be all that long. Which is why when Sans speaks Sasuke doesn't immediately reply, instead turning his head to really look at the-- the being next to him. 'You humans'? Well, that statement alone is enough to snag his attention and tempt him into activating the sharingan for a closer look, but luckily he abstains. One thing at a time.

A pale dead stare framed by bleached bone is fixed on his own and only now does he allow his hand to drop from the railing.

"This isn't your home. It isn't my home. Neither of us have had the chance to become 'sick' of this sky." His voice is deep and does little to help age him one way or the other, really.

"Who are you? What are you?"