The Deer sat next to me, or rather, he sat near me. He chose to exist outside of what he deemed to be my personal space, confining himself to a single, particular, and calculated spot. He was always considerate like that.
The Deer was one of those brilliant people who had yet to realize that they were brilliant. He was a gorgeous man with pale skin and dark eyes, with a lean figure and broad shoulders. He had brains to match, as he was an observer more than a speaker. But his pretty face continually hung down, his frame hid under modestly dapper dress, and any question he had would be followed by a flinch and an apology.
He crossed his ankles, then his hands. The Deer looked over to me. He reached out for my shoulder, hesitating. He ran through his past observations like a book, using them to make a decision. The Deer retracted his hand. I did not like to be touched.
He was always considerate like that.
I gave him a weary smile, sliding closer, grasping his hand in my smaller one. The Deer seemed puzzled.
“We’re matching today,” I remarked, referring to the bandages across my knuckles and the ones on backs of his hands and wrists. “It’s funny. Don’t you think?” I laughed. The Deer did not find it funny.
I heard him mumble as I traced around his injuries.
“They started it,” I retorted. The Deer did not respond, eyes glued to the figure eights my fingers drew on his bandaged hand.
“I guess you’re right,” I sighed to the silent dialogue. I cracked a smile, but scanned his features for signs of alarm, a hint to broaden my already minuscule window into a closed off mind. I found none, as The Deer gave me a slight nod of acknowledgment.
We spoke nothing for a while. I hummed, smoothing out a bump on one of his many band-aids. The Deer looked for patterns in my behavior, but I could see his eyes drooping, blinking back sleep. I tugged on his coat.
“Down.” I put simply. He thumbed through that mental book of his, attempting to find a trick and apply a behavior. The Deer creased his brow, slightly. He was always considerate like that. I took in a deep breath at the unsaid question.
“Yes.” I exhaled. The Deer gave me skeptical look but seemed to exhausted to argue. So he lay down, resting his head on my lap. I stiffened for I was neither used to nor at ease with the amount of contact I had had that day, but I relaxed as I found comfort in running my fingers through his hair. It was not long before I could hear him snoring lightly, chest rising and falling steadily.
I hummed, childishly attempting to count his freckles, twirling my finger around a bundle of midnight locks. His fingers twitched. I half grinned to myself, while my knuckles burned with every movement. But that did not matter. I myself almost nodded off, closing my eyes, listening to The Deer’s light breathing, up and down–
“You’re not supposed to be here!” My eyes shot open. A woman stood a few feet away. She was tanned, wrinkled, looking scornfully. “You’re not supposed to be here!” she repeated. The Deer had shot up by now, on his feet wide eyed. “Go somewhere else!”
The Deer apologized for us and lead me out for he know I was too afraid and anxious to. He was always considerate like that.