Milo was lying in bed beside Calliope with an arm around her. Calliope was not wearing anything. Milo was wearing silk stockings. Calliope liked the silk stockings and he liked her liking the silk stockings. It was really great, actually. She also liked the white cotton panties, but those had to come off eventually. That was just practical.

They were over there on the record player.

Calliope liked to sleep after. Milo liked to hold her. He wasn’t sleepy, he was a little bit hungry, but that would interfere with the holding. He considered it appropriate to continue the holding and touching until they both had all their clothes on, and then he would ask if he wanted to touch her again.

He was developing a theory that he didn’t really need to ask, not every time, because he hardly ever saw other people asking about touching and Calliope didn’t seem to be too bothered about it, but he was afraid to test it out. It seemed safer to have things so she could just say if she didn’t want touching, instead of have her push him away or, gods forbid, actually look mad or hurt about it. Actually be mad or hurt about it. Asking hurt less.

Besides, when he asked, it seemed to lead pretty quickly to in-the-bedroom-with-no-clothes-on and sex and he was sure you were supposed to ask about that, so it was efficient, really.

She never seemed to say no when he asked her. She always smiled and liked it.

Worry creased his expression. He brushed Calliope’s dark hair aside and looked down at her. Ann? She knows she doesn’t have to say yes every time, right? Is she afraid to say no because she’d hurt me?

He had been scared that way, a little. Ann had tried to explain to him about it, and it got really complicated, but she said something about trust. He was pretty sure that meant if Calliope ever found out he’d been lying to her, she’d be a lot more hurt than by him saying no, and that seemed reasonable.

He hadn’t wanted to say no yet (gods no), but he would if he ever did. He didn’t know how Calliope felt about it, though.

No, Milo. You and I both talked to her about it, and I’m sure she understands. Calliope is very good at understanding things. I’m sure if she didn’t want something, she would say so.

She didn’t want the marriage, and she hadn’t been shy about expressing that. She had apologized for the slap.

Milo felt better thinking of it that way. Calliope was good at understanding and keeping herself safe.

He rolled onto his back with a sigh — still touching, still against her. He moved his leg in the silk stocking just slightly, stroking her leg, so he could feel that. That was really great. Everything about touching made him feel soft and melted inside, like a candy bar he’d forgotten in a pocket. He was glad he could do it now, and he was sad he hadn’t been able to before. He’d been so scared of doing it wrong he couldn’t do it right. He’d missed out. Calliope didn’t hate him when he didn’t get it just right and he’d been able to learn with her.

Well, the concussion helped. The concussion really helped, but after that, when he could be afraid again. Then Calliope helped.

Erik and Maggie and everyone were wonderful about it too. They helped him with hugs, and letting people near, and they made him happy and safe.

But they didn’t melt him like Calliope did. This was way better touching. This was a level above hugs. This was like a cathedral ceiling, or a home run hit out of a ballpark. A painting in a museum. A racecar.

Professional-grade touching.

Even the people who paid to have sex with Ann didn’t make her feel like this.

If he’d known sex was like this he would’ve… Well, no, he wouldn’t have done it, because Calliope was extra special and wonderful and she taught him about touching and before that he would’ve been too scared. But he would’ve looked it up at the library or something. He would’ve done research.

The library didn’t have any books about how to hug right or hold hands, so maybe that wouldn’t have helped anyway.

You needed a person to teach you people-stuff like that. A really safe, really great, wonderful person. Like the boy with the broom who was so patient with him and talked to him, even though he couldn’t talk back. And he shared sandwiches and chocolate.

Sometimes there was touching. Milo was primarily interested in the sandwiches and not-dying at that point, but the touching was okay. It was like a trade, and that helped him figure out how to trade things too.

Sometimes the touching made him feel funny. Not really great, like Calliope or dresses, just… Funny.

Wait…

Milo sat forward with a wide expression of shock. Ann! Could I have had all this AND sandwiches?

◈◈◈

Ann cringed internally. She couldn’t really do it, not with Milo being Milo and no mirror, but she felt like it.

Milo wasn’t dumb. There was a lot about people he didn’t know, and he was overly cautious and he wasn’t curious about things that scared him — but now that he was getting some experience, he had a frame of reference and he was interested. He was completely incapable of rational thought while Calliope was busy with him, but afterwards it was almost like he was better at it. (Except for a certain tendency to decide everything was “really great.”) He had questions. He was making connections.

She knew it was only a matter of time before the boy with the broom came up again, this time with context. And that had the potential to hurt him so much. It might knock him back to the way he’d been before the boy with the broom — a wounded stray who snatched up the bare basics for survival and then scuttled off to hide among the trash cans, human contact being no more than a threat.

She had to be so, so careful with this, but even then, she might not be able to keep him from being hurt. It had already happened, and she hadn’t been there to protect him then. She could only help him understand it now.

No, Milo. I don’t think you could’ve had this, not then. You weren’t ready for it yet. You could hardly go near people.

But he was all right, Ann. I didn’t know that right away, but when he didn’t hurt me, I started to figure it out…

◈◈◈

“Hey, kid.”

The boy had brown hair, khaki trousers with patches in the knees, a ragged white shirt, and a broom — with angled straw bristles and a green-painted handle.

The boy had a sandwich.

He was holding out the sandwich.

Milo had a red shirt and a suspicious expression.

The people with brooms and rolled carpets and other things like that got together during the day and made… like nests. Like the rats’ nests he sometimes found behind the big machines at the workhouse. “Starcatchers’ Markets,” he heard people say. Starcatchers’ Markets had everything, all in one place. Food. Clothing. Disinfectant and bandages for bites. Sometimes bottled drinks, with sugar. A lot of people, but a lot of chaos.

You could take things if you could get near. If you could get near. They recognized him, most of them, and they knew he took things, and when they saw him they’d throw things at him. Not good things. Loose cobbles. Empty bottles. Clear off. Get away. That kid steals shit.

They had thrown things and he had gone off to hide and come back when they broke up at sunset and went away and maybe he could get near then.

He was hungry. He didn’t really count days. He hid a lot. He hurt himself and rocked himself until he could sleep. He didn’t know how long it had been since he’d eaten. But he was hungry now and he wanted the sandwich.

The boy might want him to come near to hurt him. Like those men who took his shoes. They hit him a lot, because he bit and scratched, because he really needed the shoes. There was a lot of broken glass and twisted metal and it hurt to walk with no shoes.

He had to take shoes off a dead person. Sometimes dead people had things, usually not food. But clothes. Shoes. The shoes didn’t fit very well, but it was better to have shoes that didn’t fit than none at all. He had to put newspapers in them. Newspapers were good for a lot.

Milo frowned at the boy with the broom and the sandwich. It was just one boy. He couldn’t see any others hiding. The men who took his shoes had broken his glasses down the middle, but the lenses were still okay. It was light. He could see.

The boy wasn’t bigger than him. He could probably stop the boy from taking his shoes… if it was just the one boy.

“Come on,” said the boy with the broom and the sandwich. “You’re hungry, aren’t you?” He had a strap across his chest and a satchel.

More sandwiches in that? Milo wondered. Can I take that?

If it had just been over his shoulder, Milo might have made a grab for it, but the way he was wearing it, that would be too hard. There would be a fight, and that might mean getting hurt and being less able to get food and water and find places to hide. Milo snatched the sandwich, just that, and ran.

He ducked into an alley, through a broken doorway and into a bombed-out building. He found a small closed space, under a table dusted with rubble, against a wall, and looking out, breathing hard, he ate. Fast. Fast.

No one came and tried to hurt him. The boy didn’t follow. No one saw him with the sandwich and wanted it.

It wasn’t enough, it was just a sandwich, but it was something. He could wait a little longer until he needed to get near people again, and throwing things and screaming. He could sleep.

When he saw the boy with the green broom and the brown hair and the satchel again, (he double-checked and made sure) the boy had another sandwich. He said if Milo hung around and didn’t steal anything, he could have another sandwich. On the strength of two painless sandwiches, Milo was willing to chance it.

The boy sat down on the curb with his shoes in the gutter (it didn’t look like his shoes fit very well either) and he reached into the satchel and offered the sandwich like that.

Milo did not sit down, but he didn’t run off right away. He was thinking of possibly more sandwiches in the satchel he didn’t dare take, or something else food, and maybe the boy would let him have some.

“So, what’s your name?” He was sure the boy said that, at some point. Also, his own name. There was a lot of talking. But nothing to do with getting more food, so Milo didn’t pay much attention. He couldn’t talk to people or look at them, anyway.

He used to try to get himself across, nod or shake his head. Sometimes even point at things or pull people along. Leaving the workhouse where it was horrible but there used to be food and a bed and people knew to leave him alone, and then having his shoes stolen and everyone always screaming and throwing things at him, had pretty much killed any desire he might’ve had to reach out. Nothing was safe anymore. It was better to hide.

But this new thing where he got food without people screaming and throwing things seemed worth exploring.

He was thinking that quietly, and not looking, and waiting for some mention of more food, when the boy put two fingers in his mouth and whistled really loud. Milo thought: He’s calling other people to come hurt me and take things from me. And he took off very fast and hid for a long time and the next time he saw the boy with the broom (the brown hair and the green broom) he ran away without awaiting any offer of sandwiches.

◈◈◈

He thought I couldn’t hear him, Ann, Milo realized. It took him a long time to figure that out, longer than trading things and making drawings to tell people what he wanted, but when he didn’t look at people or talk to them, they thought he couldn’t hear them. They’d get louder, or they’d make noises like that. Clap hands, or whistle, or just say “Hey!” so they’d see if he reacted. He put in his cards about how he could hear people, so they’d quit doing that.

I never knew why he did that. No one came to hurt me and he was sorry after. I got a whole chocolate bar.

Later, if there was a chocolate bar, the boy would share it, but after the boy had scared him like that, he got the whole thing. So he’d come back and quit running away.

That was nice.

I’m not sure if it was nice, Milo. I’m not sure if any of it was nice.

Milo was confused by Ann being so worried, and that made him worried. They usually understood each other better than that. Being at cross-purposes like this meant some kind of big concept, maybe a scary one.

Ann, why are you thinking he hurt me? The men who took my shoes hurt me. The sisters at the workhouse hurt me. Calliope hurt me when she hit me. I know what being hurt is. The boy with the broom gave me things to eat so I didn’t have to steal. He helped me remember people don’t always hurt you. He only scared me, and it wasn’t even on purpose. He wasn’t pretending. If he was pretending, he would’ve stopped and then tried to hurt me.

I don’t know if he hurt you yet, Milo. You don’t know it yet, either, because you don’t understand all of it. I’m not sure if he was trying to hurt you. But he shouldn’t have done what he did.

◈◈◈

“…I haven’t seen him for two nights. I don’t know. He might just be stuck somewhere. When somebody dies, you don’t know, you know? Unless you’re there.”

The boy liked to sit and talk to him, which Milo was also willing to allow, based on the sandwiches. Also the chocolate. It was kind of annoying that there wasn’t always chocolate, but he was pretty sure the boy wasn’t holding things back and not sharing. He wasn’t sure where the boy got things. “Over the wall,” wherever that was. He was aware of the wall, but he didn’t think it was a good idea to go near it, let alone over it. Even if they had chocolate over there. There were bullets and explosions and loud things over there. Lots more of them.

“You like peanut butter and jelly all right, Chris?”

The boy tried calling him different names. Sometimes he said girls’ names, which Milo thought was funny. Not that he could smile or laugh about it, but he thought it was funny. He did not look over or acknowledge the talking either. There didn’t seem to be any point to it. There was nothing Milo wanted to say. And the boy always kept talking about stuff anyway.

“I mean, you’re eating it, but you eat everything. You’re hungry. That’s why you take stuff. You’re not running your own little black market and selling things. How come you take bandages all the time, Philippe? You got a friend who’s hurt or something?”

Milo didn’t say anything. He took bandages because he needed them. It felt better to hurt himself, especially when it was really loud and scary. He could hit his head, or bite. He tried not to bite unless he had something to take care of it, because he could hurt himself too much that way, so he got sick and so he couldn’t hide or find food. He had to have something to clean it out and fix it when he was done. Then it was okay.

But he didn’t think the boy needed to know that. You weren’t supposed to hurt yourself and the boy might do something to get him to stop. Like at the workhouse.

“It’s kinda mean if you’ve got a friend who’s hurt and you never bring him a sandwich. Or her. You have a girlfriend, Stephen?”

Milo didn’t say anything.

“Does anyone else ever feed you, Harry?”

Milo didn’t say anything.

The boy with the broom leaned closer and kissed him on the cheek. Milo blinked, but he still didn’t say anything, or look over.

“I’m sorry,” the boy said.

Milo didn’t say anything.

“Here.”

Milo got four squares from a chocolate bar, which he ate.

◈◈◈

Maybe it was an accident…

It was not an accident, Milo. You do not kiss people on accident, even if you’re fifteen or sixteen and stupid. He gave you a treat afterwards like he was training a dog.

I needed it, though.

There was no part of that that you needed!

I needed the part where I got a treat for being around people and not being afraid and not being… not being caused pain, Ann. Nobody else was going to be patient with me and do that, not in the middle of a siege! Does it matter if he did it because he wanted to touch me?

Yes, Milo! It does!

Yeah, thought Milo. He sighed and sat forward, drawing the blanket into his lap. Calliope stirred and muttered. He put his hand on her arm, which was okay. She smiled. It would probably be okay if he kissed her, too, but it might wake her up.

They were friends and they touched a lot and the touching was okay. He didn’t have to ask, not every time, because there had been a lot of times and she’d say no if she ever wanted him to stop.

I didn’t say no, Ann. I didn’t say anything about it, or push him away.

He’d even let the boy undo his shirt and see all the scars. He didn’t know yet how that bothered people. He found that out when the boy was bothered about it and wanted to know if someone was hurting him.

Now, sitting in bed, he shut his eyes and tried to unpack that. Could it have been something nice, like, Is someone hurting you? Please tell me. I want to help you. I want you to be safe! Yeah, maybe. Or it could’ve been something way meaner and scarier in hindsight, like, Is somebody touching you? Only I’m allowed to touch you! You don’t let other people touch you! I’ll kill them! Or, gods, even, I’ll kill you!

He couldn’t differentiate, not then, and certainly not now. Just scary yelling — to which he also did not react, not even shaking his head. He absorbed the relevant information — People don’t like my scars, they get loud — and he stored it away. He didn’t ever let anyone else undo his shirt… until Hyacinth and Mordecai did it when he had the concussion. They didn’t mind.

Calliope didn’t mind either.

Mordecai seemed to mind later, but Milo thought that was more about keeping him safe than not liking the scars. That wasn’t scary, he knew that right away. Of course, he was paying attention now and thinking how to be nice to his friends instead of how to get more sandwiches…

You couldn’t say no, Milo. You couldn’t say anything. That boy knew that.

I couldn’t say no when Hyacinth and Mordecai took all my clothes off.

That was because you were hurt and you were all covered in mud and vomit, Milo. That was to help you, not to… Not to play with you. You were hurt then, too, and you couldn’t ask him to stop, and he played with you.

…Maybe he thought I’d like it.

Yes. Maybe he did, or maybe he just wanted to do it and he didn’t care. You didn’t like it.

I didn’t mind it…

You didn’t know what it was. Now you do. If you knew what it was back then, would you have liked it?

Milo considered that. Sex was really, really great. He liked it every time. But it was with Calliope. No. I like girls. I don’t think I’d want to with a boy… Unless he liked dresses an awful lot and we had a dress to play with. And only if Calliope could play with us too.

That was a surprise. Ann had never given a thought to sex with anyone but a woman. Milo might be okay with a man? (Provided he liked dresses an awful lot and Calliope was still involved.)

She wondered, with another internal cringe, if he would like this man to share sandwiches and a chocolate bar after. Probably he would. Milo’s first experience with pain-free human contact had made quite an impression.

But do you understand why it was wrong, Milo? You didn’t know what it was, and you couldn’t say no, and you wouldn’t have let him if you did know what it was. If it was like that with Calliope and she couldn’t tell you to stop, you’d be too afraid of hurting her. You wouldn’t do it.

No. But I’m way more afraid of stuff than normal people, Ann. And I’m way smarter now than I was at fifteen.

That’s not an excuse.

No. It’s just a reason. But he didn’t have to be doing it to hurt me. I don’t know why he was doing it because I didn’t care and I wasn’t paying attention. I just wanted to eat.

He considered that.

He must not have wanted to hurt me, Ann. He gave me food so I wouldn’t be hungry or die. He cared about me.

Or he just gave you food so you’d let him get near and hurt you, Milo. Like those men who took your shoes.

He didn’t take my shoes, though.

No. He took other stuff he wanted and he didn’t care if it hurt.

It didn’t hurt, thought Milo. I don’t think…?

He didn’t remember it hurting, or being afraid. He couldn’t go back and fix it so he did remember it that way. Why would he want to? How would that help now? He’d been hurt enough.

He was a little afraid now. He could have been hurt. He’d been too damaged to protect himself. Food and shoes, yeah, he knew those things were important, but not anything else.

Ann? Did it hurt you being a prostitute? I know sometimes people hit you, and the ladies yelled at you and they spat. Not that. Just having to be one?

Another surprising turn. She didn’t think they’d get into that. She had to pause and consider herself. Well… Maybe it did, a little bit. I was proud I had a job and I liked making money and being pretty, but… I guess I didn’t like doing it. It made me feel… like I had to sell something I wanted to keep. They didn’t love me. I wanted someone to love me.

Calliope loves you, Ann.

Yes, Milo. Thank you. I know. I don’t want to have sex with Calliope. She’s a friend.

Okay, okay. Calliope was his friend too, but Ann just didn’t want the sex part. No matter how great he told her it was.

Ann? Do you think he wanted me to love him? Like Calliope is trying to figure out if she can love me and like you wanted someone to love you?

◈◈◈

“Sometimes I think you’re a fairy, you know?” the boy said, smiling. “I think, if I ever get your name right, I’ll break the spell and you’ll start talking to me like normal. Or maybe you’ll just disappear.”

Milo sat on the curb with his shoes in the gutter and didn’t say anything.

“Do you like me or just sandwiches, Charlie?”

Milo didn’t say anything.

“I’m all out of food,” the boy said suddenly. Sharply. “I don’t have anything left.”

Milo stood up and walked away. (He had to fasten his trousers and tuck in his shirt.)

“Wait,” the boy said. Milo stopped but did not turn. The boy put half a round loaf of bread in his hands. It was dusted with flour and speckled with mould. It felt hard like a stone. “Here. It’s stale, but you can pick off the green bits.”

Milo ate without regarding the green bits.

◈◈◈

…Yes, Milo. I think he probably did want you to love him.

Milo frowned. The boy with the broom had disappeared not too long after that. He didn’t know quite when, because he didn’t see the boy every day. After a week, he began to suspect he wasn’t going to see the boy again, and after two weeks, he knew it. Well, maybe he didn’t know it, but he felt it prudent to begin supplying his own sandwiches.

He tried trading, like the boy had traded with him. Sandwiches for talking and touching… Except he wasn’t any good at talking and touching so he took clothes off of dead people and tried trading those. It was harder than stealing — he had to add nodding and shaking his head back to his repertoire, to get himself across — but it worked a lot better and it hurt a lot less.

A few days later, he bought a dress that way.

He was glad he’d met the boy with the broom, but he didn’t really miss him. Especially not after the dress.

Ann? Do you think he got mad at me for not loving him and went away?

No, Milo. I don’t think that was it.

Do you think he went over the wall and he found a good place where there wasn’t any war and he stayed there?

No, Milo.

Milo sighed. Yeah. Me neither.

I think I’m sad about it, Ann. Because it shouldn’t have happened that way. And maybe I could’ve made it better if I’d been better.

It wasn’t your fault, Milo.

No… I guess it feels like it, but I know I couldn’t fix me. I wasn’t strong enough. I was too hurt. I couldn’t talk to him or care about him or tell him I didn’t want sex but we could be friends. I only understood sandwiches.

…I can’t remember if he ever got my name right. It wouldn’t have made any difference if he did, but I think I’m most sad about that part. And I can’t remember his name because I didn’t listen about it.

I can’t know if he wanted to hurt me and I can’t go back and be hurt by it, but I’m sad.

Milo? Do you want to cry? Or get changed?

No, Ann. It’s not crying sad. And I don’t want to change because Calliope might miss me when she wakes up. He twitched a vague smile. I still like sex. I don’t feel weird about it. You don’t have to worry.

Oh, Milo, I’m glad.

Ann…? Do you think Calliope might like sandwiches and chocolate milk?

Milo, it isn’t a trade… You don’t have to pay her. You know that, right? She was worried again.

I know, Ann. But I can’t say “thank you and I liked it.” Sometimes I have to make up how to say things, but I can do that now.

Milo, I think she probably knows you like it, and you’re grateful… But I guess it won’t hurt to say it.

Milo slid down to the foot end of the bed, where there was the most clearance, crawled around Calliope and collected his underwear from the record player. Then he went looking for his shirt and pants. After consulting his watch, he decided he might as well do a bottle for Lucy too.

◈◈◈

Calliope awoke to a trayful of peanut butter and jelly and chocolate milk on the bed beside her, and Milo sitting in the rocking chair, giving Lucy a bottle.

“Aw, Milo. Did Lucy make us some sandwiches?”

Milo nodded, although it came off a bit grave. His smile didn’t work right, and he couldn’t cover it with his hands full of Lucy. He didn’t get how Ann never understood when Calliope was teasing. Her “I’m being funny but let’s see if you notice” smile was about fifteen-percent more pointy than her “I’m not paying attention” smile. It was obvious… once you figured out she really did mean to be funny sometimes.

Calliope drew her legs under her and sat up. When she nudged the tray with a hand, she found that Milo had stuck it down with magic, so nothing would spill. “Wow, Lucy’s a genius,” Calliope said.

Milo nodded. You were supposed to agree when people said stuff like that about babies, context and teasing aside. He didn’t want to be insulting. Lucy was smart for a baby, he guessed. If she were a cat or something he’d be worried. He’d take her to the vet. He’d do a card: Help. I think my cat has a serious neurological issue. It can’t meow or chase mice. It just wiggles around and drools on everything. Also, it’s lost all its teeth.

But for a baby, she was all right.

“By-ah-ba-da-da,” Lucy opined, smiling at him. Lucy had an excellent smile; it worked really well, even with no teeth. He couldn’t smile or talk back to her (he hoped she wasn’t mad at him about that) but he lifted her up and touched her lightly on the nose. She giggled.

Calliope selected two sandwiches. She held one in one hand and took a bite. She approached Milo with the other hand outstretched, holding the sandwich so he could eat with his hands full. Milo had a somewhat awkward bite. He attempted a smile. It wasn’t very good, but Calliope seemed to understand he meant smiling.

“Yeah, there ya go,” she said. “Together, we’re half an octopus!”

Milo wasn’t really sure what she meant by that, but he liked it because she was saying it. And “octopus” was funny. He couldn’t laugh, but he nodded.

When he was through with the sandwich, they put Lucy on the bed, so she could practice sort of crawling around, and he could do his own chocolate milk. Calliope still wiped his mouth for him, with a paper towel. She could see where he had stains. He had another sandwich, Calliope did too.

I owed Calliope peanut butter and jelly sandwiches anyway, he thought. She made them before. I wonder if I could make some brownies? Then we’d be even.

Ann perked up at the back of his mind. I’m sorry, Milo, when did Calliope make brownies?

Oh, ages ago. Before Lucy. They were in the kitchen when I came down at five. That was a really nice day. She used to have trouble sleeping… Well, I guess she still does, sometimes, but she doesn’t make any more brownies.

Mordecai made the brownies that were in the kitchen at five, Milo.

No, I thought so too. I thought it was a substitution because they didn’t taste right, but it was Calliope. The writing on the note and the writing when she labelled the gears on the smile was the same. I guess maybe she’s just not very good at brownies, or she was tired.

Ann was quiet for a long time and he thought she wasn’t interested anymore.

When she spoke up again, he was midway through a sip of chocolate milk, Milo, would you please get changed at your earliest convenience?

Huh? Okay. In a minute.

Thank you very much, Milo.