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"Are you... are you all right?"
Jane looked over at Cesare, who crouched at the edge of the roof, looking away from her. He hadn't talked at all since he'd come to visit, making their walk together even quieter than usual. She was used to him speaking very little, but this felt like a different kind of quiet- a worrisome quiet, as if he was listening for something ominous.
"We can go back, if you want. I like being up here, you know, but if you're not comfortable, we don't have to..."
He shook his head, his back turned.
"At least come away from the edge; I don't want you to fall."
He didn't respond, shuddering as a breeze blew past them.
"Come on; you're making me nervous. Just move back a bit. Are you upset with me? Did I say something wrong?"
He turned his head towards her, eyes unfocused and mouth twitching. "Tell... me," he whispered in his raspy voice, "about... it."
"I don't know what you mean. About what?"
He trained his piercing stare on her, and she immediately understood.
"It," he said, digging his fingernails into the side of the roof.
She took a deep breath. "Okay. But please don't sit on the edge like that."
He made a growling noise in the back of his throat, then moved backwards.
"I'll be honest," Jane said, "I don't remember much of it; I blacked out. I was asleep, and you... do you know what you were thinking then? When you-"
He shook his head. "Did not..." He shut his eyes, trying to remember. "Saw you... in box..."
"I wasn't in a box," she said. "I was sleeping in bed, in my room."
"Box," he insisted firmly.
"The first time I saw you, you were in a box. I was so scared, but... it wasn't just you that scared me. I don't know; when you opened your eyes, it was like… I was looking at myself."
"Could not... hurt you."
"Why?"
"Scared," he echoed.
She cleared her throat. "You took me out the window," she said. "Do you remember that?"
He shook his head again. "Touching- and screaming. Could not..." He emitted a pained noise, grabbing at his throat. "Hurt."
"What hurt?"
He gestured from his head down, to his whole body.
"They said you were found dead," she said. "After all that. I guess you just passed out, didn't you?"
He nodded.
"Me too," she said quietly. "We were both scared, weren't we? And we hurt each other."
Cesare shook his head. "Not you," he insisted. "He hurt us." He shivered again, and made a low growl.
"You seem pretty cold," Jane said. "Are you all right out here? We can go back to my room, and I'll get you a blanket or something."
He blinked. Why should she be concerned that he was cold? He was often cold, after all; why regard it as a problem? Still, he liked the idea of a blanket; he still wasn't used to those. He bowed his head, lowering his eyelids in an expression of gratitude.
-
He followed her back through the window, and she handed him a blanket. They sat down on the bed, staring at the rooftops. Cesare didn't bother to unfold the blanket, but instead sat quietly with it across his lap, stroking it with his fingers, then touching his own cheek. He looked at Jane, then flinched back, muttering under his breath.
"Is something wrong?"
"Cannot... touch me."
"I wasn't trying to touch you; I know you don't like that. Don't worry; I really don't mind."
He shifted, looking down at her hands. They looked soft, not like his, which were bony and frigid. It would be nice to touch them, he thought. After the way he had been touched for so long, would it feel any different? He didn't dare; he knew what would happen if he touched her. It had happened before. But maybe…
He drew away, then lowered his head, his heart pounding with fear. He never let anyone touch his head, not since- Did he trust her to? What if it went wrong? Was he afraid of her still? Was it safe?
"What are you doing?" she asked.
He felt his shoulders shake, and all of a sudden, he sobbed. He didn't have the words to tell her exactly what he wanted, and what it would mean after what he had been through.
"Don't cry, please- I don't want them to hear you. Can you tell me what's wrong?"
He brought his head even lower, curling facedown on the bed. He wanted to stop crying, but he couldn't.
"Touch..." he gasped, before sinking into sobs again.
"Oh," she said. "Are you sure?"
"Need... to know."
"Okay. Please- please stay calm; I want to trust you, but..."
"Want... to..."
He gasped, feeling something soft brush across his hair. He fell quiet as she smoothed it, keeping his eyes closed. It didn't feel wrong, or bad; none of the terrible hunger he'd come to know was there. In its place were the unspoken words, I see you. You are safe. Maybe once, long ago, someone had spoken those words to him, from a time he couldn't remember. They had been stolen from him, replaced with something horrible and wrong. But now...
He raised his head, blinking, and held out his hand, grazing a strand of her hair with his fingertips. They both jolted back from each other.
"Sorry," she said. "You're just... cold."
"Is that... bad?"
"No, no. Just a bit startling. To tell the truth, I don't like people touching me too often, either, you know. Especially strangers."
He tilted his head. "What... about... friends?"
She smiled, taking his hand. "Friends are okay."