The Creature had began staying with you 3 months ago after he had appeared wounded on your doorstep. He was silent, eyes full of terror and an inhumane curiousity.

He spent his nights watching snow fall, his mornings in the furthest part of the room from you. He was scared, that he'd hurt you or the world would.

You were patient. more patient than victor, but a more intent listener than the old man. You purposely left your journals of poetry out for him to read, because you knew it helped him understand you.

Until one night. he appears from the room you'd made for him. clutching your leatherbound journal in his hands. he took wary steps, closer than he'd ever got. Trembling like a fawn in a blizzard, the giant man hands you your book.

Blinking softly, he sits down on the hardwood at your feet with an unceremonious thump, shaking dust from the beams.

"..Would-.. you..." his voice is slow to creep out of him, "..read to me?"

You were healing him. and you didnt even know how much he loved you.