Charlie wept openly into the chocolatier. Arms held on to him as if to a life preserver; hands desperately gripping the man's plush coat. Mr. Wonka was so comforting and warm, yet his face was so cold and he had rarely engaged in human contact. Charlie nuzzled deeper into the man's chest, it made his head hurt every time he tried to figure out the famous genius. Willy hummed softly while rubbing Charlie's back calmingly. Something stirred inside him every time he heard that melodious voice rumbling at the back of the chocolatier's throat. Charlie inhaled deeply, Wonka's sent was even more captivating than his melodies and gentle embrace. His clothes smelt almost saturated with the sent of blended candies to numerous to try and sort. Even so, the smell of his neck was the most fascinating to the senses. It smelt of a thousand different lands and experiences, people, even feelings. No wonder the candy confectioner was so paranoid about having others near him. Charlie tightened his grip on the man as a result Willy chuckled softly.
"Charlie, I'm not going anywhere, you don't have to worry."
Charlie snuggled in even closer as a sigh escaped his lips. The tenderness of the man's hold on him helped to ease his tense shoulders. The hand's motion on his back and the humming from Willy's throat continued in their synchronized rhythm. Ever so comforting. These situations were the only times the chocolatier would go without his gloves. That fact always added an even deeper layer of humanity to their position. If a spectator were to look at the pair they would hardly know Charlie was in the embrace he was so enwrapped in the chocolatier's arms. Willy's coat framed Charlie's face and he had put a blanket over them since they were sitting next to a window on that cold February night. Charlie had been in Wonka's quarters for another night since 11:00pm, it was becoming a habit of sorts. When he had a bad dream, his parents weren't listening to reason or his world had simply been turned upside down again, his sanctuary was in the man's arms. No matter what happened, no matter what he would say or how long he would rant Charlie always ended up in his arms. Strangely enough Willy never minded, and he always seemed to have a different tune to hum to Charlie in his time of distraught turmoil. Willy would stroke Charlie's back until early dawn shone through the frosted windows. The pace was different yet had the same effect, his smell changed yet never smelled unknown. They always ended up in a different place in Willy's rooms but the embrace still gave the same comfort. Everything changed yet stayed the same, it was the way Wonka was. Charlie knew that and he liked it.