As Ash tentatively stepped outside of the bedroom he looked around, finding the home to be minimalist and quaint. The walls - he now noticed - were all wood and the spacing was filled with moss and wood shavings. It must have been built by hand years ago. The wood was smooth and there were a few knick knacks here and there including. There was a small table in the corner with three mismatched chairs, a little kitchenette against the wall, and there was a crackling fire on the far wall. No wonder he felt so cozy - Ash was perpetually freezing no matter how many layers he wore. The kitchenette had a large bay window with various herbs growing on the sill. Hanging at the top of the window were dried flowers some of which Ash could recognize, but many he had never seen before. They were all shades of purple and blue, pink and red - they contrasted beautifully with the cool wood and lush green herbs below. “He must love plants,” Ash thought with a faint smile. Ash loves flowers and always wished to have a garden he could tend. There was something calming about tilling the land and being with nature. Once Ash began working as an accountant he rarely got to spend time outside - other than his midnight forest strolls, but those are far from peaceful. Rather than enjoy the sights and sounds, he was often completely absorbed in his own head fighting the demons that had made my mind their home. Maybe one day soon Ash would get some house plants to bring some peace inside of his currently apprehensive world. “Maybe,” he thought with a sigh, before focusing again on the dried flowers and looking around some more. 

The last wall was covered from floor to ceiling in bookshelves that were overflowing with books of every genre. Their titles ranged from Moby Dick and Jane Austin to Atlas Shrugged to books on poetry, history, chemistry, and even physics. Ash could discern no real rhyme or reason for the organization, but he could tell all of the books had been read at least once based on the creased spines and lack of dust. Before he realized it, he had padded across the room and was running his hand along the shelves waiting for a book to jump out at him. The books were all sizes and colors, from this century and the last, and without reading the titles he knew that each had an incredibly unique wealth of knowledge that he couldn’t wait to absorb. Ash had a small collection of books of his own, but nothing like this. His family didn’t care for reading and only thought books relative to their job or culture were important. As a child, if Ash came home with a book they thought superfluous they would rid him of it then and there. He learned quickly not to take home anything or speak of his true interests. His love for literature was soon silenced as work began to pile up, but Ash always missed the smell of ink on paper and the feel of words beneath his touch. Before Ash was able to choose a novel, his nose tickled with the heavy scent of smoke and pine. The man was back. Ash turned around to find the man grinning at him slightly with his arms full of freshly chopped wood. He placed it down next to the fireplace before walking over to the shelves left of Ash. He then gently pulled out a well worn novel, turning it over in his hand reverently. Walking over to Ash, he placed it in his hands, enclosing his large palms over Ash’s tiny fingers before leaning down to whisper “I’m Jaxon.” Ash’s ears were so warm and his face so flushed he was sure he looked quite the sight. “Ash,” he managed to mumble out, now staring down at the book Jaxon had given him. It was titled Mercy Among the Children and was by an author Ash has never heard of. He looked up at Jaxon with confusion and intrigue in his eyes. He didn’t realize how close their faces had become though, as he practically brushed their noses together. Neither moved, simply staring into each other’s eyes for what felt like millennia. “Tea?” Jaxon finally said, stepping back and releasing Ash’s hands, which instantly began to feel cold and lonely. Ash nodded, and Jaxon walked to the kitchenette, filling a kettle and pulling down a box of assorted teas. 

Ash turned the book over one more time before taking a seat at the table. He opened the cover to begin reading, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Jaxon. This handsome stranger who for some unknown reason had saved his life, saw his scars, changed his bandages, and now gave him a book all while uttering less than ten words. “Why am I so captivated by you?” Ash thought. He let his eyes wander from the short military style haircut to Jaxon’s large shoulders and arms. He was in a simple t-shirt and jeans, but even in those humble clothes Ash could tell he was strong. His clothes fit snuggly and his shoulders were broad - the wood he just chopped and carried in a testament to his toned physique. Ash used to run, but physical strength was never his strong suit. This man - Jaxon - looked as if he could bring down a moose and yet he was so gentle when he handled Ash. His warm hands hadn’t instilled fear, but instead brought Ash a sort of comfort and warmth. Ash wasn’t much for physical contact especially after he began cutting - he was always terrified someone might somehow feel his scars and figure out his secret. Jaxon’s hands though, they were different. Ash wouldn’t mind his touch more in the future. Letting his eyes roam, Ash now took in Jaxon’s well defined forearms. They were massive, likely from all the woodworking and manual labor that comes with living alone in the woods. “I wonder what else he does to stay so fit,” Ash pondered. Jaxon’s back was wide and sturdy and his bum filled out those jeans nicely. They were well worn, and Ash could see the indent where Jaxon usually kept his wallet in his back left pocket. Having felt how warm his hands were, Ash was curious if the rest of him was that warm as well. He could imagine himself hugging Jaxon tightly and maybe sliding his hand gently into his other back pocket for a slight squeeze. “What am I thinking?!” Ash thought to himself with embarrassment. He quickly hid behind his book, just peeking over the top to see if Jaxon had noticed. He hadn’t turned around, but Ash could see the hint of a smirk on his face. “Crap” he thought. “He definitely noticed me checking out his ass.” The kettle whistled and Jaxon steeped the tea for a few minutes before walking over and placing two mismatched mugs on the table. “Earl Grey” Jaxon stated simply, before heading back to the cupboard to retrieve honey and lemon. The two sat in amicable silence drinking their tea, and watching the sun crest the trees and begin to spill over the meadow. Still unable to concentrate enough to read, Ash began thinking about Jaxon’s life here and how he had found him bleeding out in the woods. Curiosity finally got the best of Ash and he began to ask Jaxon a few innocent questions like how long he had lived there and how old he was. In return, Ash told Jaxon some things about himself like how he finished his degree and how he loved the smell of rain but was afraid of lakes or rivers. When neither spoke the quiet was peaceful and they simply enjoyed one another’s presence. Just when Ash wasn’t sure what to talk about, Jaxon asked the question he had been dreading: “Why do you do that?” He didn’t need to clarify for either of them to understand he was talking about the cutting. Ash’s anxiety spiked, and his hands immediately went to his lap despite the sweater sleeves covering them entirely. “Should I answer him?” He thought. “He’s been so kind and honest with me so far - maybe he won’t judge me.” They both waited a few minutes - Ash to calm his anxiety and Jaxon to give him time to think. Finally, Ash took a shuddering breath and began to explain.