Chapter 4: Touch

He should've been used to Emi's habit of not only waking up early, but being chipper while doing so.

Emi ripped the blackout panels off the back windows and gasped. Obito winced. She climbed over his legs and rolled open the side door, arms spread wide, taking in the salty air. He picked the sleep from the corner of his eyes and cursed his past self for agreeing to this, no matter how good looking she was.

"You better have a good reason for waking me up," he warned, voice low and raspy.

"It's cloudy out, but we can go for a swim!" One look at his disgruntled face knocked the wind from her sails. She crossed the kitchen to him and pouted. "It'll be fun, I promise."

"Hell no." He pushed himself up to his elbows and paused. "Is that my shirt?"

Blatantly, knowing he was watching her every movement, she relished what little of him showed above the blanket. The round muscles of his shoulders, with their long curves to his biceps. The peaks of his chest, wisps of black hair stopping at the middle where splotchy scars began. His Adam's apple bobbing the length of his throat.

"It is. I needed something to cover up.. Do you mind?" She toyed with the hem, lifting it, in reality, the barest of an inch, but Obito's eyes grew in hunger at the possibilities hidden in the shadows between her thighs.

He wore that shirt all day yesterday. It smelled like him. Did she like that? Did she pull it over her head and hold it to her nose?

"I don't mind." His mind went feral. She could wear his shirt, smell like him. They could post photos of them cuddling. He could walk next to her with his hand around her waist. They could act like a couple. She would look taken, like she belonged with him.

His resolve from last night echoed in his head. "I like you wearing it." He sat up, keeping the comforter pulled to his lap. His feet crowded the cool wood floor around hers. He hunched his shoulders to hide his front as she tried to gander at more than he was willing to share. "Can you hand me my lotion?"

Emi spun and bent over. The shirt hem rode up the back of her legs. Obito lolled his head down and to the side. Her hamstrings contracted. The shirt gaped down her front. She reached, pulling the fabric with her. Every shift, every pulse of her body etched itself in a memory he would worship.

She stood, the fabric caught on her bikini. The underline of her plump cheeks sent his mouth watering. He laid his left arm across his lap. She waved the lotion at him again, catching his attention. The movement was stunted, having to keep one hand restraining his arousal, but he managed to unscrew the lid without much awkwardness. Now he hoped and prayed she would leave. His mind was focused on one thing.

"Can I do it?"

He stared at her. "You want to.."

"I wanna help. I can do your back, if that's okay."

This morning was a miracle. He was, under absolutely no circumstance, about to remove his arm from taming the part of him betraying his private thoughts. "I'd appreciate it."

The mattress sank where she knelt behind him. She encircled him as she reached for the jar. An annoyed huff blew from her nose when he didn't help her by shortening the distance.

Obito stared holes into the ceiling as she went to grab the lotion, willing his mind to not think about what she almost touched and how her chest warmed his shoulder.

He cleared his throat. "It's for two purposes: my skin gets itchy and flaky around the edge of my scars, and the whole area gets tight in general, so if you could massage it into the muscle, that'd be nice." Well, talking about his skin condition was a sure-fire way to kill the mood.

"I'll do my best, cutie."

Obito hung his head.

Emi dipped her fingers in the jar and spread the cream in long caresses over the scars. She curbed her eagerness, only allowing herself to take him in piece by piece instead of feasting all at once. Working in slow circles, she ran her fingers over his nape, fingernails grazing his hair. In the low light of dawn, his arms were dotted in goosebumps. She dipped again and clasped the slope between his neck and shoulder. Her fingers pinched and her thumb pressed.

Obito liberated himself from self-consciously quieting his breaths and let the air expel forth in a low moan, deep in the back of his throat. Emi moved her knees on either side of him.

Using both hands, she dug her thumbs along the edge of his deltoid. Her knuckles coasted his plains and he responded in whispers of encouragement. She moved down to the triangle muscle of his lat and squeezed.

Emi dipped her fingers for more lotion and smoothed it over the outer edge of white scars on his spine, turning them pink with her prodding. Her legs widened; she sidled up to him and flipped her hands around so that her palms put pressure on his lower back, skirting over his waistband.

Obito's gaze was stuck on the outline of her lips as he spoke, "Can you do that to my arm? I never take the time to-"

Emiko would obey any command from that erogenous, gravelly voice.

His head dropped to the side and he watched her through half-lidded eyes as she moved from behind him; his shirt riding up her thighs. She wrapped her hands around his bicep and massaged to the tune of his groans.

"I never take the time to do this sorta stuff myself," he said.

"You should take care of yourself." Her sultry voice was doing nothing to banish his desire.

Obito moaned again as she moved to his forearm. His arm was extended, the back of his hand was pressed against the sensual contours of her breasts. She arched into him, petting his arm, treating him so tender and loving. His stomach flipped at her special attention. Her fingers spoiled his palm in sweet strokes.

Through it all, she watched the pleasure roll over his face as the sun rose.

"Want me to do more?"

His cock twitched under his elbow. "I can do the rest," he said, nodding at his shorts. "It goes down to my leg, so.."

Emi released her hold on him. "I'll leave you to it, then." Her face was unlike anything Obito had seen before. It wasn't as coy as flirting, it was impish. Her lips were lopsided, her eyelashes fluttered, she practically glowed with a yearning he couldn't process at the time. "Come outside when you're done." She shut the side door behind her.

Obito tossed the comforter from his lap and slathered the lotion on his chest as quickly as possible. He dipped his hand below his waistband to spread it along his inner thigh.. Then he leaned back. Outside the windows, through the sheer white curtains, Emi stood between the van and the ocean. Steps away from him, waves lapping her ankles. The breeze tempted the edge of his shirt. His hand wandered.

He shouldn't.

He propped her pillow against the wall. He tested the position; he could peek out the window without being seen. It was dark in the van and the sun rose behind it, keeping him obscured in shadows.

He shouldn't.

Obito kept his footsteps light and swift. Grabbing a single paper towel from the cabinet, he laid on the bed, lotion open next to him. He looked down. The fabric of his shorts and boxers were stretched to the maximum to try and contain him. He looked out the window.

Emi used the front of his shirt as a sort of hammock to collect things. It bowed and sank as she picked seashells out of the sand. The hem cinched the smallest part of her waist.

Obito bucked his hips and shoved the waistband down. His erect cock bobbed. He cupped himself to feel the weight of what he was about to do.

He shouldn't, but it was too irresistible.

He dipped his fingers in the lotion and smeared his throbbing tip. The paper towel sat waiting at his side. He kept his face angled to the window, and kept his chin tucked, leaving as little as possible to be noticed-if anyone were to look. He tugged the curtain back just a tad to see her without inhibitions.

One by one, his fingers ran over the lipped edge of his head. He sighed. He moaned. He ran his thumb over the sensitive skin of his balls as his left hand started stroking. It had been weeks since he felt the urge to touch himself this way. Each pass of his fingers sent his legs twitching.

He chased his release, eyes never leaving her. In the quiet of the van, his heart pumped blood in deafening beats.

Emi bent over. He dipped his fingers, his cock now slick with makeshift lube and precum. It ached as he took in her scent left over on the pillow. His eyebrows were drawn together and his panting increased, almost coming out as whines, desperate in his need to feel her skin on him.

The heart shape of her cheeks. Her black bikini outlined everything, leaving little to his imagination. Still, he wanted to know what was hidden from him. He wanted to have her bent over in here, with him. He imagined grabbing her ass, sliding his thumb under the swimsuit wedged between her cheeks. Running his thumb along her, feeling how wet she was for him.

His pace spiked. He wanted to rip those bottoms off and cum on her. He wanted to claim her. He wanted to fuck her, and hold her, and fuck her again.

He twisted his wrist around to a new angle, fingers stroking the top of his head, imagining this is how it would feel if Emi were knelt before him, jerking him off, mouth open to receive his-

"Oh, fuck-" His high surprised him. He took his eyes off Emi as he scrambled for the single paper towel to mop up the evidence on his stomach.

He tossed his head back and finally said it out loud; the words he held onto when the first spurt of cum shot and his orgasm curled his toes.

"Emi." He said her name again, "Emi, fuck you for doing this to me." He smiled at the ceiling.

The side door rolled open, then slammed shut. Emi raced out of the ocean to show Obito her collection, all in a neat line organized by size. "A purple sand dollar, some hermit crab shells, pieces of conches, and a shark tooth." His shirt was tied in a knot at her hip. "Cool, right?"

His lips curved in a languid grin. He took the black shark tooth from her and held it to the sky. "Cool."

"Did you want to- Oh." She had been reaching for his hand when she paused. "I guess you wouldn't want to get in the water, since you just lotioned."

"I'll go up to my knees," he offered. He dropped the tooth and completed her movement. Step after step, she guided him while his feet sank in the sand and ice cold water turned his skin red. She changed their position, pivoting to his side and adjusted their grip until their hands laced together.

They waded out to sea until the waves splashed her hips. It was higher than his initial offer, but the first time a particularly large one collided with her, staggering her stance, he dropped her hand to ensnare her waist and steady her like a hero on a cover of a romance novel. He studied her soft smile when his fingers slipped under the edge of the shirt to settle on her skin.

He pulled her in. He drew her body to his, forcing her to repeat the pose from yesterday. She pressed her body along his side and rested her head on his chest, clasping her arms around his middle. She mumbled against his black t-shirt.

"I'm fucking freezing."

"Yep," he said through chattering teeth. "Shower?"

"Shower."

The public beach showers had private rooms with lukewarm water at best, but it still stung their frigid skin, sending them into a shivering mess for minutes until they managed to uncurl their fingers from their arms and stop hunching over, bitching about the cold.

Emi and Obito chose stalls next to each other, fresh clothes tossed over the shared wall.

Soap circled the drain as Obito washed away his sins.

In the tiny mirror attached to the toiletry bag, Emi ran her thumb over her bottom lip as he did last night and placed her hand along her waist, pressing each finger where his were minutes ago, swaying back and forth, lost in the flattery.

Both showers turned off at the same time. Emi watched Obito's boxer briefs slide over to his side and he watched her thong disappear over to hers. Exiting the stall, she dashed for the van and giggled as he tried to catch her.

Joke was on both of them. She had to sweep the sand out of the van and he hung up all their wet clothes and towels on the tiny ladder rack in the bathroom.

"I'm too lazy to do all this."

Obito dropped her bikini bottoms as if he were caught doing something naughty. "What?" He hung them back up while she gestured broadly at the bed.

"I don't feel like putting this stuff up and making breakfast. Wanna go to the diner up the street?"

The waitress guided them to a table in the back corner against the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the sidewalk and road. Down the hill, surfers dotted the slate blue waves. Traffic lights cycled for no one. Store owners beat their welcome mats free of dust. Few customers were in this hour, most of them older men pouring over the morning paper with their piping hot coffee.

Obito sat with his right side facing the window, away from their curious eyes.

Every wall of the diner was painted a different color. The one across from Obito was tiled in blue geometric kaleidoscope designs. The one at the entrance was mustard yellow with larger than life sized portraits of cows in fuchsia. To further the kooky theme, the menu itself featured old school Hollywood era celebrities rollerblading, speech bubbles coming from their mouths about their famous pancakes and listing out the daily specials.

A different waitress took their order, pencil tucked behind her ear, poking out of her pin-up style Victory curls.

Mugs of coffee were dropped off and Emi thanked the waitress' retreating back. The double doors to the kitchen swung closed. She turned to Obito and shriveled in disgust. The table was littered in ripped yellow packets of sugar and the thin metal spoon scraped his mug as he obnoxiously stirred.

"Does it bother you that I ordered meat and stuff?"

"Are you asking me if being normal bothers me?"

He harked a small laugh. "I think it's been a bit too long since someone described me as normal."

Sadness returned to Emi's eyes for a moment before she schooled her face to a sly smile. "No, it doesn't bother me. I've been forcing you to eat vegetables every day. Go wild." She drummed her fingers on the mug. Obito copied her grip, keeping his fingers still. If he drummed like her, their knuckles would touch.

Jazz music played over the speakers of the diner, helping to muffle their conversation.

"Hey," Obito started. The foggy street lessened Emi's interest when he looped his finger through hers, linking them. He coughed, drawing her full attention, and stopped slouching. When the new position threatened the undoing of their hands, he leaned over the table. She watched his movements like a hawk. "I wanted to tell you about my accident. I, uh-"

Emi let go of the mug to hold his scarred hand between her palms.

He couldn't settle on anything to look at, going from her eyes, to their hands, to the table, to the sugar packets, to resting, to at last, on his mug of coffee. He licked his lips.

"You don't have to tell me."

"I want to," he said. Moisture left his mouth; his body diverted it to his hoodie, damp with sweat. He used his good hand to pick up the glass of water and bring it to his mouth, clinking on his teeth as it shook in his grasp. He couldn't look at the mug of coffee next to their hands; he needed to distance himself. He turned his gaze to the red streetlight.

"It happened when I was thirteen." Having explained his story ad nauseum in the past, he had organized the events in his head and could recite them in order instead of the jumbled mess it usually was. "My room was on the first floor, my parent's room was on the second at the end of the hall, farthest from the stairs."

I thought I was dreaming. The dark smoke, the fire alarm. I thought if it was that serious, it would've woke me up long before there was any danger. It was a really old house and my dad installed the one fire alarm himself, so who knows if it really worked."

When I realized it was real, I ran for the front door. I don't remember seeing the fire, but I remember the heat when I ran past the stairs. I thought they had already escaped and were waiting for me outside. I remember the feel of the grass. It was covered in morning dew."

I got to the mailbox and didn't see them. A firetruck and an ambulance were on the street. Men were jumping out of them, shouting at me. I dunno what they said. All I remember is that next, I was at the front door again. I went back inside."

Emi closed her eyes and shut her lips in a tight line. She rubbed Obito's hand, learning each scar and the price he paid. His eyes were wide and glazed over. The streetlight turned yellow.

"I know you're not supposed to go back in, that's probably what they were yelling at me, but I couldn't hear them. I was running upstairs. I called out for my mom, but my throat was burned by then. That's when I was pinned under something, that's what broke my knee. I passed out instantly. I woke up in the hospital with half my body covered in burns and I couldn't speak because of the smoke inhalation. I was told that's what killed my parents long before the fire would've gotten to them, but I.. I swore I heard them screaming when I was climbing the stairs."

"Obi.." Her empathy ran over for him. She hooked her thumb around his and pulled. The table halted her soothing gesture, sending a sharp pang to her ribs, but she had to be closer. Obito felt the tug and leaned in with her. It wasn't until he felt her steady breath on his knuckles that he turned away from the green streetlight. Her lips were pressed to his fingers, moving, forming apologies for what he had been through.

He lifted his index finger, stretching it out as far as his damaged tendon would allow to caress her cheek. His bouncing leg settled, nestling between hers. "After I left the hospital I went to live with my grandma out in the country until a year ago. Kakashi's been my friend since we were kids and he offered me the extra room in his apartment. He knew I was having a rough time. He's actually the one who pushed me to start therapy again, but I never really felt like I got anywhere with it. It only made me more frustrated because I didn't know how to explain how I felt, like I couldn't put into words what I'd been through, what emotions I was experiencing."

Obito blew out a long sigh. His finger left her cheek to join the others curled around her hand. "I've been depressed so long it all boiled down to anger most of the time, anyway. And when you're in this deep, you hardly finish anything. Not kidding, I've failed every single thing I've started."

"I can help you."

His entire body, his entire being, settled in the palm of her hands. "Help me?"

"I can help you navigate your emotions and give you the language to express yourself." She brought his knuckles to her lips for a quick kiss. "It's part of the reason I wanted to write books aimed at young boys, to help destigmatize talking about your feelings. I can help you with that so next time you try therapy it'll be more productive. Plus, I'll listen to you now, for free."

Despite the heavy topic, they managed to smile at each other. "I'd appreciate that. Kakashi tried listening, but I think we're both too emotionally stunted to be of any use."

The waitress bumped the swinging door open with her hip. Emi let go of his hand to give her room to set their food down. The waitress winked at her and left.

"That burrito is literally bigger than my arm," Obito said in awe. He compared his forearm to her food, coming dangerously close to dipping his sleeve in her guacamole.

"I'm a growing boy, ya know," she snarked, downing her room temperature coffee.

They dug into their meals as if they hadn't eaten since, well, yesterday.

Emi's shoveling of food to her mouth slowed to long chews, to miniscule bites, to pushing the tofu crumbles around on her plate with her fork. "Obito?"

"Hmpf?"

"I'd like to share something with you too." He contemplated wiping his mouth on his sleeve, then opted for a napkin. She continued, "I used to be married."

He swallowed the egg in his mouth, set down his fork, and gulped the dregs of his coffee. "Married?"

"He died two years ago."

"You're a widow."

"Correct."

Obito's overall expression was unreadable to her. His eyebrows were drawn in skeptically. His mouth was turned down in displeasure. His eyes were narrowed in contemplation. Was she overstepping some boundary by assuming he would care? He shared something life changing while she shared she used to be in a relationship. Maybe it wasn't equal to him. Or maybe she misread his small physical affections as more than they were and truthfully he could not care less about her status as single or not. Her jump in conclusion must've been similar to telling a stranger you got an A+ on your algebra homework in middle school.

He looked confused, she decided. Confused as to why he should care about her husband. She wrapped up the story as her mind tried to make sense of the situation. "Yeah, yeah. Brain Aneurysm. Sudden. He was in the kitchen putting away groceries and he passed away, fell on the floor just like that-" She snapped her fingers. Now Obito looked mortified. Oh God, why did she keep messing this up?

"Two years ago," he mumbled. "What was he like?"

Emi nodded to herself. Okay, Obito was being polite. Asking the appropriate follow up questions. No need to go into too much detail, this exchange only required the surface amount of information. "He was very kind, took care of me 'til death do us part, ya know?" She ate her cold food in an attempt to diffuse the awkwardness. She twirled her fork around. "I couldn't drive and couldn't work and he accepted that. He took care of me and my faults, I took care of him and his."

"You couldn't work? Couldn't drive?"

Emi's shoulders braced as if ice blocks were balancing on them. The food in her mouth turned to mush. Her lungs seized.

The waitress' dress swished from her hips as she sauntered to their table. She held the coffee pitcher with both hands and poured them fresh cups. Her beaming smile melted the ice, shrugging her shoulder up to her chin as she turned away and disappeared behind the doors.

"Anyway, when he passed, I started writing. I just.. Couldn't stop. I stayed awake as long as possible, only passing out when I needed to. I wrote all through the funeral. I even had a notepad with me to take inventory of my emotions as they buried him- his body. I didn't want to forget anything in case it came up in my novels. I sold that manuscript and bought the van." She waved her fork again. "I got my license at some point through that mess."

"Fascinating." Obito reevaluated his poor choice of words. "I mean, I'm sorry your husband died, uhm." He drank more water.

"It's okay. I kinda view it as a different life. Like it didn't happen to me. I'm a completely different person now. Like you said, my van, my rules."

"Free to do whatever you want, whenever you want, right?"

"Exactly."

Obito ran his tongue over the back of his teeth, wondering how much she would divulge. "Do you miss him?"

"Mm, of course I do, but if we're being brutally honest here, I don't think about him much anymore. Just small glimpses here and there. Like yesterday, you actually reminded me of him."

"I did?"

Emi's face darkened as she tipped forward to lecture him. "He was also the type to never want pictures of himself. I would show you what he looked like, but he literally never let me take one. I have no physical memories as keepsakes. It's like he wasn't here. It's very annoying. Not a single one," she muttered.

As bothersome as it was to him, he never knew a picture of himself would mean much to anyone. That it would be treasured.

Obito kept the rest of his burning questions to himself. If he didn't ask her long term goals, if he didn't ask her if she considered dating anyone, he could envision any future he wanted.

Truthfully, all day he daydreamed of being with her, but there was a yawning pit between them. At the end of this, she would leave him to stare into the abyss, alone, keeping their casual friendship just that: casual.

Emi's phone lit up on the table and she choked on her coffee. "Is it really that late?"

He reaffirmed with his phone. "Oh wow, noon already."

They tipped the waitress and high tailed it to the van.

"Sorry, I know I said we don't have much of a schedule, but tomorrow we'll be at the Sakura Bowl and it takes for fucking ever to set that shit up," she said, heaving. She turned on the ignition and drove out of the parking lot a bit fast for her normally leisurely demeanor.

Obito laughed at her frenzied flutter. "I'm just along for the ride, Emi."

"Open."

"Ahhh."

Obito stuffed fries in Emi's gaping mouth. He held the iced coffee's straw to her lips. "Drink."

"Thank you," she drew out the last vowel in a singsong way. It was well past when they should've stopped driving. The headlights lit the yellow dashed lines and little more apart from the tumbleweeds.

"I haven't driven this long in a while. I usually tap out at six hours max." She rolled her shoulders and her back popped like bubble wrap. "It's not just the task of driving, but, ya know, if you wreck.. You wreck your house." She cracked. "Obi, you can wreck your house." Her cackle shrieked over the podcast they were listening to. Tears dotted the corners of her eyes.

"Okay, Ma'am, next grocery store parking lot we find, you're stopping for the night."

"I know, I know. The Sakura Bowl's in that city over there, if you can see it." In the black of the desert, tiny lights sparkled up ahead. "We have a lot of stuff to do tomorrow, but we can sleep in so we're fresh and ready for the day."

"So, that's what, 5AM for you?"

"Oh, don't tease me, Obito. I might even push it to 5:30 if I'm feelin' bad." She shimmied at him.

"You really are an entirely different person when you're tired.. Or drunk." He opened the lid to the iced coffee cup and sniffed.

Emiko parked under a streetlamp in a large parking lot of a grocery store. Several cars did the same, staying to one light each where the security cameras could see.

"C'mon, don't stop now," Obito huffed. Emi rolled her head to look at him, eyes refusing to open. "Did you really pass out while I was doing chores? Harsh. Now, c'mon." He crouched between the seats and hoisted her to her feet, doing more than his fair share of dragging her to the sink where he forced her to brush her teeth, then to the bed. He figured her cotton shorts and shirt were ideal pajamas.

He finished locking the front doors and pulling closed the blackout curtain. Side-stepping her socks and shoes, he sat at the edge of the bed to take off his own.

"What's on my.. Oh." Emi stopped her inspection of the fabric fisted in her hand. Her fingernail hovered over the substance.

"Oh God," Obito exhaled. "Oh God, I'm so sorry, Emi." Fractions of seconds felt like hours as they made eye contact. In all his years of being a public embarrassment by merely existing, this was the first time he brought it upon himself. The humiliation now could never compare to his previous stumbles.

He dropped his face to his hands. Anything to block it out, anything to disassociate from this situation. He abused her trust and took advantage of her kindness.

He raked his hands through his hair, pulling it to the point of pain. His voice came muffled from his palms. "I'm so sorry." Her silence nearly drove him to the point of stuffing his head between his legs to calm his panicked breaths from sending stars to his eyes.

Emi let go of the blanket. She rolled over and knelt behind him like this morning, knees on either side of him. He jerked at her knuckles stroking his scarred shoulder. His blazing hot skin amused her. "I thought I saw you watching me."

"You saw.. You saw me.. Watching you."

A soft purr of a moan emitted from her as she traced his shirt collar. Hooking her finger under the fabric, she pulled it down. Her lips glided over his neck, "I thought it was kinda hot."

"Hot?" Obito croaked. "It's not hot. I'm a fucking creep." At her admission, he dislodged his face from his hiding spot and turned to her.

She had the same look as earlier. Half-lidded eyes, a sly smile.

"Next time you feel that way, let me know. I'd love to participate." She closed the distance between them, ghosting a kiss across the scars on his cheek. He observed the seductive sway of her hips, gone when the lights flicked off and she crawled past him and under the covers.

Obito sought out her body. The sweat on his skin cooled and she captured his shirt, hauling him in like he was lost at sea, just to nudge her nose against the heat of his throat and lose herself in his musk.

"Why?"

She angled her face up and grasped his chin, speaking succinctly and enunciating every word so there was no confusion. "Because you're attractive."

His chest swelled. Their breaths mingled. Their bodies longed to be joined. "You think I'm attractive.."

"Very," she said. "Think about it, the first two times we met I complimented your looks." His arm sank into the pillow next to her cheek. Her luscious lips teased him. "You're handsome and I like you." She nuzzled against the textured skin of his forearm. The rising and falling of her chest evened out.

"Do you mean that? Do you like me?"

"Hm? Yes, I do," she murmured. "Goodnight, handsome."

"Wait." He shifted his weight to his scarred arm, dipping her head with it, to slide his other arm under her shoulder. He leaned to her ear, nuzzling his nose to her jaw, basking in her proximity like a wilted plant to the sun, "I like you too."

She didn't respond verbally or physically. One light snore; she was asleep. Carefully, he released her and laid down. His head hit the pillow and it deflated with stale air.

Obito didn't know if her words were more than surface level, but they felt real to him. He believed them to be real, if only to allow himself the comfort of his daydreams.

A week, a month, a year, a lifetime, it didn't matter. He connected with someone and he would put in the effort to make it last as long as possible.