She’d stayed the next night too, and the one after that. She’d go into work and come back with food, she’d tell him about her day. He didn’t encourage it but he didn’t stop her either. The first time she’d kissed him he’d made some weak protest about how he was too old, too damaged, how she could do better, but she’d ignored him and he’d let it happen anyway. It felt good. He needed it. By the time he’d recovered himself enough to start feeling bad about the whole thing they’d been sleeping together for months. He tried to push her away, to keep her at arms length, but that made her angry and upset. He guessed he could understand that.