I finally managed to ask. He looked over his shoulder at me, almost like he’d forgotten that I was there. Rearranged his moody expression for something else. He then busied himself with snatching my hand, examining the blisters there and giving me an impatient look. Without even saying anything, he threw off his backpack and withdrew a red medical pouch. I don't know, it was something suddenly romantic as he doctored my hand without me whining about it. Truthfully, I was so occupied with other things that it didn't even bother me. “Let’s go to the mountains. Out of the city, away from all these things. We’d be safe from all of this down here,” he said slowly, carefully spreading a cool gel over the burns on my palms and fingers. I gave him a startled look. “I couldn’t do that – “ “Why not?” he demanded, ripping open packets to unravel ointment covered cotton pads. He was extremely gentle in his handling – I felt embarrassed by the feelings caused by it.
