Mr. Crawling

You weren’t sure how he’d react — even the word "date" had to be explained from scratch. But when you showed him a few pictures on your phone — smiling people, ice cream in hand, a sunset and a walk together — he perked up. To him, it seemed like "together walk fun".

Crawling was sitting on the floor, as always — hunched over, limbs wide, a little too still. His long, tangled hair draped like seaweed, and the torn black cloak looked more like skin than clothing. On a normal day, he would’ve refused anything about "washing" or "wearing clothes". But you spoke gently, slowly — and he listened. Almost with interest.

"I want to show you my world."

You said, kneeling in front of him with a brush.

“So you can see how people live here. But… you need to look a bit different. Not much. Just enough so they won’t be scared. We’re going on a date. It’s like… a small celebration between two people. Got it?"

He blinked out of sync, tilting his head.

"What is... da-te? You and me... eat sweet and hold hand?"

You nodded.

"Yes."

He paused. Then nodded back. Fast, like he understood.

"Then... you do me face and hairs. No hurt, yes?"

He stretched his long fingers toward you, like agreeing.

"I be... pretty?"