Any worry he had that she may not like it is replaced with an aching desire to hold her and steel her away from all this. He sees the way her eyes shine, the surprise at the gift, and he can do the math; she hasn't been doted on and cherished the way she should have been. He knows what that feels like.

"Decide where you want it, and I'll hang it," he says, stepping close enough to catch her face in his hand, tracing over her cheek with all the gentleness and ache he doesn't know how to voice. Then he gives her a grin. It's her birthday, after all, and she came in here playful. He wants to give that back. "You know I'm going to have to draw you with all those pretty things you got me. Your choice if you want clothes on or not." That space heater she got would make things much easier.