He settled back slowly, his throat clearing softly as he sat beside me in the creaking chair. Softly, he pushed out a hand to put my plate in front of me first, as if he was assuring himself I was ready before him. "Uh. let's eat," he whispered. I caught him staring at me for a moment, observing the way his spoon was hanging down rather than up, clumsily perched on the table. I couldn't help but burst out laughing when I saw it. It was such a little thing, but for some odd reason, it caught me by surprise and made me laugh. He raised an eyebrow when he heard me, looking up, and said, "Why? What's funny?" I was pointing at his spoon, still chuckling a bit. "You're holding it incorrectly," I told him, struggling not to laugh anymore. His face softened immediately, and wordlessly, he re-gripped the spoon and took off a bite. I watched how he went about it easily, then remembered that I had gotten a bruise on my hand earlier. That was from the old man who had hit me, and my hand w
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