the next day, we go back to my garden.

this time, i make him help me water the plants and teach him how to care for them. he seems careful today, cautious around me. as if he's watching his words so he doesn't say the wrong thing.

"what happened to speaking your mind around me?" i ask him, pausing with a shovel in my hand.

he looks up from where he's raking over a dead spot. he looks tired: hair matted to his head, bags under his eyes.

he wipes his face with the back of his hand. "sorry," he tells me softly. "i'm just... really tired."

i go over to him, let him relax as we both sit. he puts his head on my shoulder and closes his eyes. 

his breathing slows, and i am careful not to move so i don't disturb his sleep.