Roger pondered the neatly folded pajamas that were still lying on the bed as the sunlight began to peek through the window curtains. It must've been morning. He was still sitting there on top of the bedsheets—he hadn't gone to bed all night. He remembered that the doctor and his wife had brought him to his room, showed him the clock, and motioned for him that it was time for bed, but he didn't let them change him into the pajamas they'd proudly introduced him to. They'd given him gentle (albeit slightly awkward) head pats as he sat on his bed, then they crept out of the room and shut the door. He hadn't moved ever since. He was still in slight disbelief that this had all transpired. It was an odd feeling—he did want to spend time with his new parents, but at the same time he was afraid that at any moment they'd decide they didn't want him anymore and they'd send him straight back without another thought.
Roger saw motion out of the corner of his eye near the door. It was now more sunny in the room, and the bedroom door was opening to reveal the doctor timidly peeking inside. He seemed surprised for a second. Perhaps it was because Roger was awake, or maybe that he hadn't even unmade his bed, or maybe that he was still wearing his dayclothes without having even touched the nightwear. Still, the man smiled gently and waved a greeting to the small boy. He stepped inside and went over to Roger as he made signs with his hands that appeared to be asking if he'd slept. Roger shook his head. His legs felt a little numb from sitting in one position for so long. He reached over and grabbed the teddy bear that they'd given him the previous day in order to show appreciation—he felt bad that he hadn't slept; it wasn't the man's fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. He just couldn't stop his mind from racing and racing and racing and racing—
Roger saw a streak of something orange flash by the open doorway. His eyes darted over. Who was that? Was it the wife? Why did she move like she was running? But suddenly the wife did step into the room, as slowly and carefully as her husband did. However she was wearing a blue robe. Nothing orange. She gave the same beaming smile again and ran her hand gently down the back of Roger's head. He saw her mouth move as if she was saying "Good morning" to him. He allowed the touch because she was very careful with him. She sat opposite of her husband on the bed, on Roger's left side. The two of them began to have a conversation, it appeared. Presumably about the boy's reluctance to sleep. As Roger held his bear and looked around his room, he saw the orange flash again—except this time he was able to make out a form. It was a boy. A boy with…red hair. Roger felt his face drain. Did they have other children here? Was he not alone? Was there another redhead that he was going to have to watch out for?
Roger jolted out of his trance-like stare when he felt the man touch his shoulder to capture his attention. He was pointing at the dresser and motioning towards his clothes. Ah, he wanted him to know that the clothes were stored in there. The wife also motioned to him, clearly saying for him to put on an outfit from the dresser, go outside of his room, and then they would eat breakfast. At least he figured that's what she was trying to say. The pair reinforced their plan through signs one more time to him, then made to step outside of the room for his privacy. They always seemed to smile so kindly at him with everything they did… As they closed the door, Roger's horror increased by ten-thousand. Behind the door, leaning against the wall, was the redheaded boy with his arms crossed and his face rigid. Roger couldn't move, couldn't breathe. It was Jack. Jack. How could this be possible? The redhead was staring hard at him as he stepped forward a bit. "Thought you'd get away?" he said aloud. Roger's heart jumped—he could hear him. His mouth was uncomfortably dry as he attempted to say something unsuccessfully, but Jack just sneered. "They can't help you, Roger." he said, now just inches away from him. "No one can help you. You're hopeless. They pity you. That's all this is—it's sympathy for the poor, sad, abused boy who's gone insane. It won't last."
Roger opened his lips to protest in some way, but Jack's hand came up and covered his mouth completely and roughly. "They'll get bored of you. Tired of your pathetic needs. Then what happens? They'll send you right to an institution and there, you'll rot. It's where your kind belong." he sneered. Roger trembled as those green eyes bore into him, staring into his soul. Jack let go of his mouth. "You'll never get away from me," he said with a raised eyebrow. "Or what you did, and enjoyed doing. I'm going to always be watching you." Roger looked down at his lap in shame—he didn't want to be reminded, he didn't even want to think about what they'd done. He hadn't known what he was doing. Jack had said that he loved him, that it was ok as long as two people were in love… Jack looked over at the door and then back at Roger. "They're coming," he said. With a wicked, pitying grin, he stepped away from the boy. "Enjoy being with them. It won't last long." Roger glanced over at the door when he saw it beginning to open—and in that instant, Jack completely disappeared. How? He was right here, so real, so…
Agatha peeked her head in to see if Roger had made any progress in getting dressed, but her heart broke to see him fearfully staring with wide eyes at an empty wall. She very carefully stepped over to him and placed a gentle hand on his back. He jumped slightly, but then relaxed when he saw it was her. She pointed over at the dresser and signed the word 'why' to him, inquiring as to why he didn't get his clothes on yet. He followed her point with big, slow eyes, and then looked up at her with a heartbreaking gaze and covered his face with his hands in shame. She could hear him starting to sniffle and sigh as if tears were coming on in hiding. Agatha knelt down immediately and took his hands away from his face, trying desperately to tell him that she wasn't upset or angry—and trying to get him to calm down. Roger watched her face through teary eyes as she annunciated that everything was alright, he was ok, there was nothing to cry about. He quickly looked up above her head to see if Jack was watching like he said he was. Roger did a scan of the room. No sign of the redhead. Unfortunately though, he realized his behavior attracted the attention of Agatha; she was gazing at him with sad and confused eyes. Roger bit his lip. Agatha very tenderly opened her arms to welcome him into a hug. Roger stood for a moment, unsure of what to do—if he accepted the embrace, he would be assuming a place in this family, which would make his inevitable heartbreak even worse. But if he didn't, he could potentially hurt her when she was trying so hard….
Awkwardly, Roger stepped forward towards her and held his arms a bit outstretched at the elbows. Immediately, he felt her draw him in. In that one simple hug, he felt so much love, gentleness, acceptance, and care exuding from her. It was warm, bony but warm, and she smelled so good. Roger let his gaze go to the floor as he was comforted. She was stroking the back of his hair in such a way that it was actually almost…relaxing. Soothing. Roger opened his eyes as he felt her pull away a bit to communicate with him, but as soon as he looked up, he saw Jack standing in the corner again. Shaking his head. Sneering.