"Here." I held out the clothes. "Put these on."
He took them, turning them over in his hands, sniffing them —
"Please stop smelling things."
— and then looked back at me with obvious confusion.
"Clothes," I said, miming pulling a shirt over my head. "You wear them. On your body. To cover yourself."
Something clicked in his eyes. He'd seen me put on clothes. He'd watched me through the window enough times.
He held up the shirt, studied it for a moment, and then attempted to put his head through the arm hole.
"No, that's— here, let me—"
I crouched down beside him, taking the shirt from his hands. "This hole is for your head. These are for your arms. See?"
I helped guide it over his head, trying very hard not to notice how soft his hair was, or how good he smelled — like pine and ear
