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“No.” Same answer as yesterday, with his breath still uneven against my shoulder.

His right hand supports my elbow, the two blunt fingers lying flat beneath it. He bit those claws off because I told him to think of something.

“You do remember how to agree to things.”

He puts the old pad in the bowl and examines the wound. “It’s closing.”

“Then we can stop using it as an excuse.”

His eyes come up to mine. “I’ve given you my answer.”

I let him finish the bandage, keeping my knee against his side. He lifts my hair clear of the wrapping with the backs of his claws. When I turn toward him, he looks at my mouth.

Then he gets up for breakfast.

Coward.

I follow him to the hearth once I’ve pulled the shirt on. He hands me the bowl and waits for me to take it back to the pallet. I sit on the stone beside his instead.

There. He can spend breakfast looking somewhere else.

He manages most of it, though his spoon stops when my knee touches his.

Good.

By the time the daylight reaches the lower edge of the vent, he’s abandoned a piece of leather twice.

The first time, I sit next to him while he mends the seam and ask my question again. He gets up to check the pot, then takes the leather to the other side of the hearth.

The second time, I stand behind him and touch the thick hair at his nape. His next breath is deep enough that I feel it beneath my palm. I stroke down to the fur between his shoulders, following him when he leans forward.

He sets the work aside and brings me water.

“I wasn’t thirsty.” I don’t reach for it.

“You haven’t drunk since breakfast.” He puts the cup in my hand, collecting the empty bowl with the other.

“You’ve been watching.” When I take a drink, he carries both the bowl and his unfinished work into the inner passage.

I wait until he’s out of sight to swear at him.

When he brings food, I eat it because I’m hungry, sitting where I can watch him. He brings the leather back from the inner passage and takes the place across the fire. The whole hearth between us, for a seam.

The daylight moves down the wall while he finishes it. I move with it, leaving the pallet to sit near him again. His hand tightens around the leather when I rest mine on his knee. “Does every touch come with a request?”

“Would you prefer I lied?” I look up at him. He’s watching my face now.

“I’d prefer an answer.” The leather creaks in his fist.

“Yes, I’m still asking to go outside. And yes, I want my hand there.” I leave it on his knee. “You can disagree with both.”

He looks toward the outer passage, then back at me. “I won’t bargain with this den.”

“I’m asking to sit at the mouth of it.”

“You asked that before.” A long breath goes out of him.

“And you caught me when I ran. We both remember.”