Wait. Um. his legs. His mouth. He can’t. They’re not. Oh dear. He didn’t mean to. This wasn’t. He should’ve been more careful. This was a mistake. He shouldn’t have. He can’t. He’s falling. He’s falling. He’s falling. He’s caught. He’s rising. Slowly rising. Up to her. Into the haze. Where the room vanishes around them. His chest rises and falls and rises and falls and rises and falls and each frightened breath fills him to the brim with sweet, sweet smoke. Coils, rivers of liquid muscle, mold to his back and legs and neck and head. Holding him. Firm. Gentle. So gentle. She sways him, softly, and he doesn’t have to move to follow those gorgeous, glittering eyes. He doesn’t have to move. He’s sitting down. He’s listening. Her words are his thoughts. His thoughts are her words. How does she do that? How does she say everything while saying so little? He [i]would[/i] sit so neatly. He [i]would[/i] squirm until it was time to leave. He’s trying, so hard, to be polite and helpful, and it makes him [i]so[/i] happy to hear that he’s doing okay at it. There’s not a single bit she’s gotten wrong. She understands. He doesn’t need to explain anything. He’s not talking. He’s sighing. His head weighs nothing. A little nudge at his chin, and up it goes. And there it flops. And there it lolls, useless, nuzzling into just one finger on his cheek. A job. A job to do. A job for him. A…a [i]pretty[/i] little outfit? For him? Pretty? For him?! He’s [i]aching.[/i] Yes. Yes. Yes. He wants to serve. Please. Won’t you let him? He’ll do [i]such[/i] a good job. He’ll do his best. Just tell him what you want him to do. Tell him he’s doing a good job at it. Look at him like you’re so happy with him, just like [i]that[/i]. His mouth’s falling open and, oh! Oh! But! You said not to talk! And! He’s not gonna! But! Nghhh! He’s still not gonna! You haven’t said so yet, so, he’s just. Gonna nod. A lot. Against your fingers. You’re right. You’re [i]so[/i] right. Please. Please. [i]Please.[/i] Let him help. Let him help all of Thellamie. Let him help anyone and everyone who comes through these doors. He’ll do his best. He promises. Let him say yes. Yes. [i]Yes.[/i] ”Abjdtpf.” Oops. Um. Hold on. Give him a minute. Blinking. Hazy. Hazy. [i]Wow.[/i] ”I. I. Ah…” Deep breaths, Hazy. Deeeeep, sweet breaths. “I. You’d…tell me what to do?” Promise? Promise you will? Every shift, every job? You already did, so, um, sorry, he just. Really, wanted to hear it again. Sorry. He’s being a little silly, yes, you did say that. That’s. Good. Yes, that you said that. Um. Let’s see. What did you ask, again? He thinks. He gives it a good think. He has to give it a good think. Because. ”Yes. Yes, Yaz ma’am. I’d like that very much. Though. I’d be happy enough with just the first two.” Because he doesn’t want her to take it personally when nobody looks at him. When nobody [i]wants[/i] him. It’s okay. You can let him fold laundry. Serve drinks. Give him all the jobs behind the scenes. No matter how much he might want things to be different. He knows. He knows how it is. No sense in asking someone to make a promise they can’t keep.