She couldn't say exactly what it was about him that brought her a sense of comfort. He was distant, quiet. He left her alone when she needed her space, but he was always there when she just needed the presence of someone else in the room. He took care of everything around the house, he even cooked for her, joining her at the table as she ate slowly, her eyes on him as he played morosely with his food, hair pulled back from when he'd been out the back, fixing the loose boards on the porch.
The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable, and she knew that should she ever need to talk he would be there to listen, to sit quietly as she spoke of her broken heart. She had once tried to ask him how he was, to find out whether his quiet resolve was the product of his own soul slowly fading away, but he had just fixed her with that level stare of his, the faintest smile curling his lips as he shook his head. He had left soon after, heading out into the night to god knows where, leaving her wondering if she had done something wrong.
It was the small gestures that made her smile, not that he would ever see, she felt a certain tension in letting him see that he had actually come to mean something to her. The simple way he would cover her over with a blanket when she fell asleep in the window seat, lighting candles with the snap of his fingers because he knew that no matter how often he did, she would always look at it with a sense of mystical wonder.
He hardly ever played with fire, the love for it gone. The only time he brought the glow forth from his hands was when she would sit by the fire, shivering despite the warmth, trying desperately to get the warmth back into her fingers. He would kneel before her, his hands rubbing together slowly, stoking the embers buried beneath his flesh before he held her hands in his, waiting for her shoulders to drop in relief.
There were some nights when she would stare at him, sitting curled into her blankets, her eyes travelling the lines of his face as he read by candlelight, his eyes glittering in the dark, fingers trailing the rim of the glass of wine that sat beside him on the table. It was just a sense of gratefulness, just relief that he had stayed with her that made her heart flutter, that's all it could be, nothing more. Nothing untoward in the way she let her gaze rove over the lines of his body beneath his clothes, simply looking at him, noticing the changes this world had impressed upon him.
She certainly shouldn't think too much of the way her stomach knotted when she had dropped the glass in the kitchen, the way he had come so quickly, making her stay still as he carefully picked up the pieces, his touch gentle as he picked up her feet, his fingers brushing against her skin, checking to make sure she was uninjured, such patience and concern on his face. She could never admit to herself that she would find herself thinking of how he had stood so close, asking if she were alright, his eyes dark as he had looked down at her, and for one terrifyingly exhilarating moment she thought he would kiss her.
But she had said she was fine, her quiet words alleviating his concern, and he had left, leaving her with an odd emptiness that had nothing to do with her parents death.