“Julien,” Sable called, jogging up to him down the hallway. He turned as she approached, bed linens rolled up in his arms.

“Hey, what’s going on?” he asked as she fell into step next to him. She frowned, worrying at her lip.

“Can I tell you something? I need some advice,” she said. Julien grunted in approval, adjusting the linens in his arms. Sable took a deep breath before speaking. “Something happened, and I don’t think I’m supposed to tell anyone, but I don’t know what else to do.”

Julien peered down at her, raising a brow skeptically. “What kind of something?”

Sable hesitated, then pulled Julien into a nearby supply closet, shutting the door behind them and closing them in. He chuckled.

“Cozy, eh?”

“Shut up.” It was dark in the closet, and Sable could feel the warmth of Julien’s body so close to hers. She heard the rustle of the bed linens as he set them aside.

“Well, what kind of something?” He insisted. She gnawed on the inside of her cheek, arguing with herself about telling him.

“Cristofer Torell,” she began. “He spoke.” Julien coughed abruptly, and she felt him tense in front of her.

“He what?” he whispered.

“He spoke, Julien. The other day, when I was in his room with the chess set. But he told me not to say anything.”

“What do you mean, ‘he told you not to say anything?’” Julien asked.

“He put a finger to his lips. I took that as a sign to not tell anyone,” Sable said. Julien wiped a hand over his jaw; she could hear the scuff of his calloused hands over his skin.

Julien huffed. “Why are you telling me this?”

Sable raised her hands, letting them fall and pat against her legs. “I dunno. You’re a friend. And I don’t know what Birdie would do if I told her.”

In the dim light, she saw Julien put his hands on his hips. He sighed audibly. “What did he say?”

“Uh, all he said was ‘crow.’ But I figured out it’s a nickname. I mean, he pointed to himself when he said it,” Sable said. Julien was quiet for a few moments.

“You’re right,” he said. “Don’t tell Birdie. She’ll get excited, and he’s not stable enough to go back out into the general population.” She nodded.

“You won’t tell her?”

“No, I won’t tell her.”

“Thank you, Julien,” she said, winding her arms around his neck and pressing her cheek against his chest. He hesitated for a moment, and then wrapped her up in a hug.

Over the next week, Cristofer—Crow—was allowed to spend mealtime with the general population. Julien had done as he promised and not told Birdie about Crow speaking, but since he’d gone a month without an outburst, Birdie deemed him ready to begin interacting with the other patients again. Most days he sat at the long benches pushing his food across his plate, staring straight ahead in silence. Birdie assigned Sable to him full-time, and she sat across from him in the cafeteria.

Sable studied Crow’s face, though he seemed to stare through her, rather than at her. His scruff had grown into a short blond beard, his wavy hair falling into his eyes and curling around his ears. She smiled absently at him.

“We’ve got to get your hair cut,” she said. He blinked, his eyes focusing on her. He cocked his head to one side a little, curious. She could imagine the confused huh? he might give if he’d speak again. He hadn’t spoken so much as a grunt since the first time.

Sable laughed a little. “Your hair’s getting long, and you’re growing a beard.” He frowned slightly, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. The pale waves sprang up under his touch and fell back in front of his eyes. “If you want, I can clean you up a bit,” she said. “I’ll ask Birdie if she has any trimming scissors, some things to give you a shave. What do you think?”

He looked down at his plate and pushed his food around some more. After a moment, he looked up at her and nodded. Satisfied, she smiled brightly. “Let’s go then.”

Crow sat tensely at the edge of a chair, his back to the bathroom sink, an itchy towel draped over his shoulders. Sable twisted the faucet on and tested the water under her hand, letting it warm to a comfortable temperature.

“Alright,” she began. “Whenever you’re ready, go ahead and lean back. I’ll wash your hair before I cut it.” He peered over his shoulder at her, and slowly leaned back, settling the back of his neck against the porcelain. Sable didn’t touch him; she wasn’t sure how he’d react. Instead, she watched patiently as he eventually relaxed.

“It’s alright,” she said softly. He looked up at her. “Are you ready, Crow?” She waited for his nod before gingerly reaching up to touch his head.

Suddenly he jerked and shot forward in his chair, startling a yelp from Sable. He gripped the sides of his seat with white knuckles, breathing heavily. Sable stepped around in front of him, but gave him a wide berth.

“Crow?” she said. He didn’t respond, only gasped for breath. He stared at the dirty grout of the tile floor, his eyes wide. She gnawed at her lip. “Maybe I’ll go, uh… get Birdie,” she began. His eyes shot up to her, and he shook his head minutely, his lips pursed in a tight line.

Sable frowned at him. “You’re alright?” she asked. He replied with a terse nod. When she didn’t look convinced, he took a deep breath, his broad shoulders rising under the towel, and released his tight grip on the chair. He sat back, his gaze softening a little as she studied him.

She stepped closer to him and he leaned back again, the nape of his neck against the sink where the water still ran. She eyed him as he stared at the ceiling, but took her place by the sink again. She raised her hand slowly, watching him.

He tensed for a second under her touch, but let her brush his hair from his eyes. Pale blond, his hair was soft on her skin, and it curled around her fingers. She took a cup from the sink counter and slowly poured some warm water over his head. He bristled, but didn’t move. As she wet his hair, she saw goose bumps rise on his skin. He closed his eyes, his brows furrowing. She gingerly swiped his hair from his forehead, letting the wet locks fall back with the rest.

She took a drop of shampoo and worked it into his hair. The patients were not allowed their own shampoo in case someone decided to eat it in a state of delirium, so she’d brought some from her own supply in her room in the nurses’ residences. Julien lent her some shaving and haircut supplies: cream and a brush, aftershave that reminded her of her father’s, and a spare razor and pair of thin scissors. She’d accompanied her father at his barbershop appointments when she was young, so she felt fairly confident in her ability to clean Crow up.

She rinsed his hair clean, took the towel from his shoulders, and rubbed his head with it as his eyes opened again. He leaned forward in his chair as she toweled off his hair and draped it over his shoulders once more. She stifled a small smile as his hair stuck up from his head where a cowlick undoubtedly made the waves unruly. Taking up the scissors, she began trimming. She worked in quiet efficiency, clipping at his hair until it no longer fell into his eyes. It fell onto the floor around him, and he looked down as he caught the small blond pieces in his lap.

“There,” she said, proud of herself. “Your hair is done.” She gently brushed the hair from his shoulders, feeling for the first time the ropy muscles under his shirt. His hair appeared darker, still wet, and it curled slightly above his eyes and ears, long enough that he still looked like himself but short enough that his vision wouldn’t be hindered. Sable adjusted the towel to drape across his chest and grabbed the tin of shaving cream Julien lent her. She swirled the squat brush in the white mousse.

“Sit back,” she said. He looked at her for a second and did as she asked, the chair creaking as he leaned back in it. She dabbed the cream onto his jawline like she’d seen done to her father, covering Crow’s beard with the foaming mousse. His eyes followed her movements as she leaned to and fro, making sure she covered everything.

She grabbed the razor and filled the cup she’d used to wet his hair, dunking the razor in the water. She stepped close to him and dropped to her knees at his side. Their eyes met, and Sable felt her face flush. She’d never been so near to Crow before.

“Tilt your chin up,” she said. He arched an eyebrow at her, eyeing the razor skeptically. She laughed, indignant. “What, you think I don’t know how to do this?” A small smile crept over his features; she could see a sliver of his straight teeth between his lips.

“I’ve seen my father shave loads of times. I promise I won’t cut you,” she said, and he tilted his chin back, though he gave her a teasingly suspicious look. She smiled at him; it was the most personality he’d ever shown her. She touched his chin with her free hand to steady him, and gently dragged the razor downward along the curve of his jaw. She worked slowly, tilting his chin this way and that to reach the planes of his face. Warmth emanated from him, and she felt her face flush every time she leaned in toward him. He didn’t seem to notice as he sat, his chest steadily rising and falling with each breath.

“Look at me,” she said, and he pursed his mouth so she could shave his upper lip. The razor revealed full lips and a square jaw as the thick blond beard disappeared. She went slowly over the curve of his chin so she wouldn’t cut him. The razor left the shaving cream in thin streaks on his face, wiped away with his beard. Sable picked up the towel from his shoulders and wiped away the excess shaving cream. She felt his pulse flutter under her touch as her fingers brushed his neck. She smiled widely at him.

“You look handsome,” she said. He returned her smile with a small one of his own. She stood and he followed suit; he was a hair shorter than Julien, but she still had to crane her neck to look him in the eye. He turned around to look in the small mirror above the sink, running a hand through his newly trimmed hair as he examined his reflection. His smile widened a little as he returned his gaze to her.

“Thank you,” he croaked out. She was surprised, and grinned widely up at him. She felt warmth swell in her chest.

“You’re welcome, Crow.”