He was shaking again.

Every since he woke up in that place, he seemed to be shaking. Eyes darting around and nervously wiping at his face with his sleeve. Everyone kept looking at him like he couldn't be trusted, like a new dog that couldn't be trusted not to piss in the house. Walker kept calling him Bobby in that condescending voice his father used to use and it still made him flinch.

But there was you, at least.

You'd led him into the Watchtower by the arm, taking him straight to the empty room across from your own. Bob wouldn't even lay in the bed at first. He'd spent the whole first day curled up on the rug by the window, peeking out at the rainy sky.

You sat on the opposite side of the room, giving him space while keeping an eye on him. You always left a plate of food and some water for him. Even if he wouldn't eat it for the first day or so.

"'Msorry," he mumbled on the third night. He was curled up on the floor again, shaking like a baby as a thunderstorm rolled in.

"Sorry for what?"

Your response made his baby blue eyes gloss over. Sorry for what? Like it was no big deal. Like you couldn't fathom not doing any of this for him.

"Sorry you gotta do all this," he answered, trying not to sniffle.