Chapter Text
Ivan moved down the sidewalk, listening as his booted feet hit the damp pavement. It had rained earlier, just before he decided to go out, and dead autumn leaves stuck to the ground. He always enjoyed midnight walks. There was almost never anyone else out, leaving the world in a calm silence. It helped ease his insomnia-induced mind and hopefully, by the time he returned to his apartment, he would be able to get some sleep.
Chills ran up his arms as a breeze tousled his hair. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets, shoulders hunching, in an attempt to stay warm. Winter was fast approaching. Ivan never did like winter. It always came too quickly and stayed too long. He expected the first snowfall in a few week's time. At least American winters weren't as harsh the ones back home, in Russia.
He looked over his shoulder at the sound of running feet just in time to see some kid skid around the corner. The hood of his ratty blue sweater was pulled up and his head bowed, obscuring his face. He gripped the strap of a backpack hanging on his shoulder. Ivan had to dodge out of his way as he bolted past.
Possibilities ran through Ivan's mind as he continued on his way. Escaped from the clutches of a serial killer. No, he'd just committed a murder himself. His first, the first of many, and he would no doubt be paranoid about being caught by the police. Jumpy and skin crawling at the slightest creek or knock on the door. He'd be like that until the itch clawing at his skull compelled him to do it again.
Reality: the kid probably stole something. But that was boring.
With it being so late, most places in the city were closed. A few bars and clubs remained open, a 24-hour convenience store, the movie theater. Nowhere Ivan was particularly interested in visiting at the moment. He had been walking a long while anyway and should head home. He found a bus stop and sat on the bench. He preferred taking the bus home, not only because his feet were tired, but also because it was interesting to observe his fellow passengers.
A body peeked around the wall of the stop's canopy. Ivan recognized the knit sweater and his eyes locked with neon blue. He was instantly captivated by them. It was like they were glowing, though he assumed it was an affect from the light of the street lamp combined with the color of the kid's sweater. He made a mental note of those eyes. He'd have to give them to a character at some point.
The kid shuffled around to sit opposite from him, clutching his backpack to his chest like a lifeline. Ivan observed from the corner of his eye, as he tended to do with the world around him.
It was a simple backpack, black or maybe navy blue. Hard to tell in the poor lighting. The kid's jeans were torn over one knee and his black Converse were scuffed, splashes of mud caked on the white rubber soles. Ivan guessed he had been through the park, as that was the only place he could recall that had enough dirt for mud. The hood was pulled back just enough for a funny cowlick to pop up around the hem, and the ends of the sleeves had a few frayed holes. Black framed glasses sat on his nose. The last things Ivan noted were the bruise under his right eye and the cut above his left brow.
There was something intriguing about the kid that Ivan couldn't really place his finger on. A new person was taking shape in his mind, with those same Hollywood looks dressed down in tattered old clothes. He hitchhikes from state to state, the backpack his only luggage. He needed a name.
“Alfred.”
Ivan looked over at the boy, eyes widening slightly. It wasn't often that something startled him, but it was almost as though the kid had read his mind. Not really a name he'd pick, though.
“I was thinking Alexei, or perhaps Yuri,” he mused.
“Those are very...Eastern Europe,” Alfred said thoughtfully, “do I seem like I'm from Eastern Europe?”
Ivan scanned his eyes over him again, “no, I suppose not. But Alfred will not do, either.”
Alfred huffed, “since when do you get to just decide people's names?”
“I am not deciding your name, I am naming a new person,” Ivan explained.
“I thought you had to have sex to make new people.”
Well, wasn't he a blunt one. Ivan ducked his nose behind his scarf to hide the tint of blush he could feel heating his cheeks. “I- that's...that's not how I meant. I am a writer, I am creating a new character.”
“Oh~, I thought you were trying to guess my name,” Alfred said, “if that's the case, why were you staring at me?”
Blunt and observant. Most people never noticed. “He looks like you. But he needs a name. A nice name.”
“Alfred is so a nice name,” Alfred said, his voice getting squeakier as it raised.
“Nyet, it is name for old men.”
“Hey!”
Ivan giggled. He looked up at the sky as he relaxed into the bench. “You are a serial killer from New York City, traveling to avoid getting caught. Your name is...Allan.” He looked over at Alfred with an expectant smile, wanting to know what the other thought.
Wide blue eyes stared back, a firm frown in place on pink lips and a crease between his brows, “that's really what you think of me?”
Ivan dropped his smile, “no. I told you, I am creating a character.”
Alfred let out a breathy little 'oh,' his eyes lighting up again. No one should be allowed to have eyes that bright, Ivan thought. They were too pretty, it made him want to steal them. He wanted to steal all of him. And he would, though not literally.
“Where're you headed?” Alfred asked.
“Home. And yourself?”
Alfred looked away, arms tightening around his backpack, “I don't know.” His voice was quiet, distant.
Ivan's brow furrowed in concern, “no home to return to?”
Alfred sighed, tilting his head back to look up at the star riddled sky, “there is a home, but I can't get back there.”
“Why not?”
Alfred glanced at him, “just can't. Say, when's the bus getting here?”
Ivan looked out at the street, “soon, I believe.”
“Mm,” Alfred hummed. He looked tired. Ivan could see the bags under his eyes because of the new angle. And freckles splattered across his cheekbones. Damn. Ivan had a thing for freckles.
The more Ivan studied him, the more interesting Alfred became. He loved picking up little details about people, storing them away for later use in his writing, and he could already tell the kid was full of quirks. He wanted to know what they were.
The corner of a book poked out of the main compartment of Alfred's backpack, the zipper not fully pulled to the end. “What are you reading?” Ivan asked.
Alfred's head snapped up to look at him, “how did you...?”
Ivan gave a nod to the backpack, “I can see a book in there.”
Alfred looked down curiously. He jostled his bag and tugged the zipper all the way down, “just some stuff I need to study.”
“You are a college student?”
“No.”
“Then what are you studying for?”
Alfred eyed him cautiously before unzipping his bag just enough to pull the book out. He handed it over and Ivan examined the cover and title. UFOs and Other Extraterrestrial Phenomena. The words were accompanied by a flying saucer sketched in gray-scale, a beam of light shining down from it over a forest.
“You believe in this?” Ivan asked, fighting back an amused smirk. He didn't often delve into the extraterrestrial world.
Alfred snatched his book back, flipping through the pages quickly as though Ivan might have slipped something in them. “Maybe.” He stowed it away again and hugged his bag to his chest. “What's it to you?”
Ivan shrugged, “none of my business, really. Just curious about you.”
Alfred raised an eyebrow at him, “why?”
“You seem interesting. I am a writer. Writers like interesting people.”
Alfred perked up with sudden interest, sitting straighter, “what do you write?”
“Horror, mostly. I have a few books published,” Ivan said, a little proud of himself. He had been doubtful of his own success in the beginning, especially with not being a native English speaker.
Alfred fiddled with his glasses, almost looking like he was pressing buttons, “what's your name?”
“Ivan Braginsky.”
Alfred pursed his lips, still playing with his glasses. His eyes flicked around, the way they do when someone is reading fast. “Eight books, all have done well. Most were on best-seller lists.”
Ivan shifted in his seat, “have you heard of me?” He had met readers of his books before, obviously. He'd done plenty of book signings. It felt weird, though, coming across someone who had heard of him when he wasn't expecting it.
Alfred bit his bottom lip and glanced at him, “yes? Can't say I've read any of your work, though.”
Ivan chuckled, “that is fine.” It also made him fee a little more at ease.
And then Alfred smiled. Wide and showing teeth, his eyes lit up impossibly bright. The sight of it made Ivan want to squirm. “Maybe I will someday.”
Ivan smiled back, smaller and softer, never really reaching his eyes. “That would be very nice.”
Something about Alfred's smile made Ivan's breath hitch and he wasn't sure if he liked that. He wanted to see it again, a test to see if he'd give the same reaction. But he had never been very good at making people smile. There was something he was curious about, though.
“If you don't know where you are going, why get on a bus?”
“Just seeing where it gets me. Hopefully somewhere safe.”
That answer was a bit concerning. “You do not have a place to stay for the night?”
The corners of Alfred's lips twisted down, “no.”
Ivan felt sympathy build in his chest. Alfred couldn't be that old, collage age maybe. He shouldn't be on the streets. He cleared his throat, feeling awkward for what he was about to offer. “I have a guest room in my apartment. You can sleep there for the night.” He glanced over to find Alfred staring at him, neon blue eyes wide in a look of surprise. “If you want, that is. I don't mean anything weird by it.”
“Really?” Alfred asked, “you'd really be okay with that?”
“I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't.”
He flinched when Alfred was suddenly right next to him, latching his arms around his neck in a crushingly tight embrace, “Oh, my gods, thank you! Thank you-thank you-thank you!”
“It...it's nothing,” Ivan mumbled, patting his shoulder lightly.
Alfred pulled away, the biggest grin plastered to his face and his eyes even brighter than before, “I was so scared I'd end up dead in a dumpster or a ditch or something. Does that really happen a lot? 'Cause I've read about it, and it seems to be a common warning for parents here to give and-”
“H-hey,” Ivan pushed him further away gently, “you won't end up dead anywhere, alright?”
“So it does happen,” Alfred's eyes went wide again, this time with a look of mild fear.
“Well, maybe? I don't know,” Ivan said. The fear didn't leave Alfred's face and he decided he hated the sight. “I won't let it happen.”
Alfred smiled and nodded rapidly. “Thank you,” he said again, relief clear in his voice and written all over his face.
The bus approached, the tires squealing to a stop. Ivan stood and Alfred grabbed his backpack, slinging it onto his shoulder as he followed.
“Do you live close?” Alfred asked as they boarded.
“Close enough,” Ivan said, “it should only be about ten or so minutes until we're there.”
“Cool,” Alfred slouched in his seat, watching as he knocked the toes of his sneakers together. They both swayed when the bus jolted into motion. “So, what kind of horror books do you write?”
“Psychological,” Ivan answered, “though I've also written some paranormal and murder mystery types of stories.”
Alfred fiddled with his glasses again. Ivan wondered if it was a habit of concentration. “Nice. I prefer science-fiction myself, but I do like a good horror every now and then.”
“Do you read often?”
“Not for fun...” Ivan chuckled at the way Alfred sounded almost ashamed to admit the fact.
As a writer, Ivan read all the time, both for work and leisure. He had to keep up with what was going on in the literature world if he wanted to stay on top of the game, especially in his genre. With visual media numbing peoples' senses, it was getting more and more difficult to write good horror that people would actually bother to read. Without everything becoming nothing but a bloody mess of sex and violence, that is. That was why he enjoyed psychological horror. It was more thought-provoking, more realistic without the all gore and 'shock' factors. And that was what made it so scary. Ending up in a mental institution was far more likely than being ripped apart by werewolves.
Ivan's cat, Sputnik, greeted them with meows from the kitchen counter, which she was not supposed to be on.
“Get down,” Ivan shooed her to the floor, her mop of long gray fur fluffing up as she jumped.
“She likes being eye-level with you,” Alfred said, shuffling further into the apartment while Ivan locked the door.
Ivan huffed, “are you some sort of cat expert?”
“No, I work at that music store down town.”
“What...?” Ivan trailed off with a glance to the clock on the stove. It was almost two in the morning. He was usually up until around four, maybe five -six on a bad night-, but now he felt like he could sleep. He sucked in a breath to stifle a yawn, “I will show you to the guest room.”
“Right,” Alfred trotted along behind him to the other side of the apartment, eyes scanning over everything.
In the hall, Ivan pushed a door open and flipped the light switch. It was a simple room, decorated in royal blue and off-white.
“Help yourself to the kitchen if you're hungry,” Ivan said, standing in the doorway while Alfred checked everything out, “and if you need anything, I will be in the next room.”
Alfred nodded and swung his backpack from his shoulder to the foot of the bed. Ivan watched curiously as Alfred made his way back over to him. He froze when Alfred grabbed the front of his coat, lowering his head to nuzzle lightly against his chest.
“You're a really nice human.”
“Uh...thank you?” Ivan shifted awkwardly. The kid was so strange, and it fascinated him. He also wasn't used to being called nice. What was this?
Alfred pulled away with a fond smile, “You should get some sleep now. Goodnight, Ivan.”
“Goodnight,” Ivan stepped out and closed the door behind him. He rubbed his chest where the feeling of Alfred's forehead lingered. Did it always feel nice when other people touched you, or had it been so long since he'd felt human contact that he'd forgotten what it was like?
Sputnik rubbed against his calf and mewled. He bent to pick her up and snuggled her, “come, let's go to bed.”
Once in his own room, he changed into an old white t-shirt, the cotton softened with age, and black pajama pants. He crawled under his blanket, the only light coming from his bedside lamp, and picked up the latest book he'd been reading. Sputnik curled up in a tight ball on his lap, purring contentedly as she kneaded his thighs. He was thankful the blanket created a barrier between his skin and her claws.
Ivan found himself unable to focus on his book, thoughts drifting to the kid in his guest room. Should he have offered him some water? That seemed like something he should have done. And did he have clothes to sleep in? All he had with him was that backpack. It looked full, but full of what? Clean clothes and other essentials, Ivan hoped. There was that alien book, though...
Ivan sighed and flipped his book shut, using his thumb as a placeholder. He felt like he should be better at this hosting thing. His eyes met with Sputnik's, “should I check on him?”
Sputnik blinked once slowly, and he could feel her claws pressing firmly into the blanket. He took it as her answer of 'I'm comfy, stay put.' Ivan looked up at the door. Alfred would be fine. He told him to ask if he needed anything, and Alfred didn't seem like the type that would be too shy to do so.
“He's fine,” Ivan stated to Sputnik. He nestled in to his pillow and attempted to resume reading. Alfred was probably asleep by now, anyway. There was no reason to fuss over him.
When he finished the chapter, he set his book on the bedside table and turned the light off, sliding further under the covers. Sputnik moved to curl up against the crook of his neck, her fur tickling Ivan's nose until he blew it out of the way.
Ivan was just starting to drift off to sleep when he was jolted awake by a fleshy thud. Remembering his guest, he quickly got out of bed, not bothering with turning lights on, and hurried out of his room.
“Alfred?” He called, stepping into the hall.
“I- um, I'm fine,” Alfred's muffled voice came from the bathroom.
“Are you sure? It sounded like you fell,” Ivan felt along the wall as he walked. He could see the light from under the door.
“I-it was nothing.” Alfred sounded very unsure of his own words. Ivan heard him hiss and mutter a short string of curses.
He knocked to let him know he was outside the door, “I'm coming in, alright?”
“What? No, don't-”
Ivan turned the knob and swung the door open. He stilled when he saw Alfred, who stared back at him with startled blue eyes. Bandages wrapped around Alfred's chest and his left bicep, clinging to dried red stains. Scabbed over wounds peeked out where the gauze had fallen, loose from an attempt to exchange them for fresh ones. Various scrapes and bruises were scattered over the rest of his visible flesh.
“U-um, I'm fine, really,” Alfred said with an uneasy smile.
“What...what happened to you?” Ivan moved closer, examining the damage.
“Nothing.”
Ivan gave him a skeptical look. He knelt and opened the cabinet under the sink, pulling out a first-aide kit before standing and nudging it closed with his knee. He gestured the counter top, “sit.”
“Hm?”
“I said sit. This needs to be properly taken care of.”
Alfred glanced around nervously as he shifted from foot to foot. After a few seconds of avoiding Ivan's determined gaze, he did as told and slid on to the bathroom counter.
“Tell me what happened,” Ivan said as he pulled supplies from the first-aide box. He set everything aside to pull off the rest of Alfred's dirty bandages.
“Can I trust you?”
“Of course,” Ivan tossed the used bandages into the sink and dampened a washcloth to clean the wound, adding a bit of disinfectant.
“I'm an alien.”
Ivan barely paused in his work. His eyes kept focused on where he was diligently cleaning the healing gash marring Alfred's chest. “You are here illegally?” He had pegged Alfred as being a New Yorker by his accent, though it was possible he'd been wrong. It couldn't be that hard for a Canadian to move to the States, could it?
“No. Yes? No. What?”
Ivan looked up curiously, confused neon blue meeting soft violet. It was strange how Alfred's eyes seemed to glow at times.
And then three little words tumbled out of soft lips. “I'm not human.”
“Funny.” Ivan said flatly. He dropped the now bloodied washcloth in the sink and grabbed the roll of gauze to wrap around Alfred's chest.
“I'm serious,” Alfred pouted. He lifted his arms a little so Ivan could get the bandages around him. “That's why I'm all banged up. I crashed here and now I can't get home...”
“If you're an alien, where is your ship?” Ivan secured the fresh bandages in place and began putting the supplies away.
“A bunch of government guys in uniforms took it. Er...what was left of it.”
Ivan sighed and rubbed his eyes. It was too late for such nonsense. “Of course they did. Let me guess, you can't let them catch you or they'll experiment on you.”
“Exactly!” Alfred shouted, his eyes sparking.
“Go to bed.” Ivan ushered Alfred off the counter and out of the bathroom, flicking the light off on his way.
“You don't believe me, do you?” Alfred asked, his shoulders sulking under Ivan's guiding hand.
Ivan stifled a yawn, “it is late. Try again in the morning.”
“Fine,” Alfred grumbled. He scurried into the guest room with a quick “night” and shut the door behind himself.
Ivan lingered outside and rubbed his hands over his face. Claiming to have seen aliens was one thing, common almost. Claiming to be one was entirely different. He knew it was wrong, but the thought of housing with someone potentially delusional was more than a little exciting. He wondered if Alfred would give him to same story tomorrow, come up with something else, or just tell him the truth.
Ivan made his way back to his own room and crawled back into bed. Sputnik was waiting for him by his pillow, moving to curl up in her usual spot by his neck as soon he settled.
Ivan shuffled down the hall to the bathroom, Sputnik on his heels. When he flicked the light on, he was met with a mess of bloody gauze and a washcloth filling the sink.
Oh. So, that actually happened. Hm. He'd thought it may have been a vivid dream, but the sink mess would suggest otherwise. He leaned back, looking at the guest room door. That also meant there was a person in there.
Ugh. He was not good at dealing with people first thing in the morning. If you could call 9 AM first thing. That gave him, what? Five hours of sleep. No, he'd gone to bed early. Seven hours. Eh, more than he usually got.
After a trip to the restroom, Ivan wandered to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. He didn't used to drink it, at least not in Russia. It was always tea over there, which he still preferred. Unfortunately, jet lag had mixed horrendously with his sleep troubles and he found himself dependent on the bitter fluid for an extra boost of energy.
Sputnik rubbed against his calf and meowed demandingly.
“Give me a moment, da?” Ivan mumbled. He moved over to the pantry and pulled out the bag of cat food. Two ceramic dishes sat over in the corner, black and decorated with fish bones. He filled one with food, put the bag away, and then took the other to the sink to fill it with fresh water.
When he turned around he froze, locking eyes with bright blue over in the living room. Alfred was fully dressed -or maybe he'd slept in his clothes- and tiptoeing his way to the front door. His backpack, as always, was hanging from one shoulder.
“Leaving?” Ivan asked simply. He had kind of been hoping Alfred would at least stay for breakfast. It wasn't often he came across such strange people. And there was that thing he'd said last night.
Alfred glanced at the the door and bit his bottom lip, as though he were guilty of something. “I, um...” He cleared his throat and straightened up, “thanks for, you know. Last night.”
Ivan watched him walk over, closer and closer, reaching, until. He was hugging him. For the second time. And Ivan just stood there, staring down at the top of gold hair. Alfred had his ear pressed to Ivan's chest, his arms wrapped around him so tight breathing was becoming difficult.
And then he popped off with a grin. “You have a nice heartbeat.”
The hell kind of compliment was that? “Breakfast.”
“Hm?” Alfred cocked his head to the side, looking up at him questioningly.
“Have breakfast with me.”
Alfred smiled brightly, “sure, if you want.”
Ivan made blini and poured himself a cup of coffee. He hadn't made blini in a while, usually grabbing something simple and quick so he could get to work. Today, however, seemed special and he wanted something that would take longer to eat. He blamed it on Alfred.
“Aw, you made baby pancakes,” Alfred cooed, poking at his stack of blini with his fork. He had already smeared jam all over them, ignoring the sour cream entirely.
“Eat,” Ivan commanded, not bothering to correct him. Seeing Alfred with food in front of him brought an odd sense of fulfillment. If the kid didn't even have a place to live, who knew when the last time he ate was.
Why did he care so much, again? Not important. Aliens.
“About what you said last night-”
“It's true,” Alfred interrupted around a mouthful, “I know you don't believe me, but it's true, okay?”
Sputnik mewled loudly from wherever she was under the table.
“See, Sputnik knows what's up.” Alfred waved his fork around, as if to emphasize his point.
Ivan wasn't sure what to do with that. Was he joking, or did Alfred really think he could talk to Sputnik? He certainly seemed serious. And when did Ivan tell Alfred his cat's name? It must have been some time last night.
Enough distractions. There were more important things at hand. “Alfred, if you've been in some sort of accident, you need to tell someone. Preferably an adult.”
Alfred gave him a flat look, “I'm not a kid. I'm-” He paused, counting on his fingers. When that didn't appear to be working, he began fiddling with his glasses, squinting at nothing. He dropped his hands with a smug smirk, “I am nineteen. Legal adult status in most areas on this planet.”
“You are still a kid,” Ivan insisted, “what happened?”
Alfred huffed, “I told you. I crashed my ship and government dudes took the remains. I'm lucky to be alive, ya' know!”
“Yes, yes, yes. Now, the truth.”
Alfred groaned and slumped back in his seat, “that is the truth.”
“You are not very convincing.” Ivan blinked in surprise when Alfred scrambled out of his sweater and glared at him, showing off his injured chest.
“Oh, yeah? What's all this then?”
Ivan narrowed his eyes, “put that back on.” He didn't usually care about seeing injuries, it was part of working in the horror genre. On Alfred, it made his stomach twist sickeningly.
Alfred complied, pulling the blue knit back over his head and yanking it down with more force than necessary. He kept up his glare, now aiming it at his lap, and pouted.
Ivan rolled his eyes at him. And he claimed to be an adult. Still, this could be interesting. Alfred really seemed to believe he was alien. Ivan couldn't help but wonder where that came from, where it would lead.
“Thanks for breakfast.” Chairs legs scraped against tile as Alfred stood abruptly. He grabbed his backpack from where he'd placed it on the floor and Ivan shot up, seizing his wrist.
“Where do you think you are going?”
“Somewhere- just let go,” Alfred yanked his arm to free himself, making Ivan stumbled against the table. He was much stronger than he looked.
“You have nowhere,” Ivan let his voice raise authoritatively. Something scratching at his insides told him not to let the kid go. Alfred was injured, homeless, possibly delusional. Ivan wondered why he cared. It wasn't like they knew each other.
Alfred flinched at the words, “you don't think I know that? I'll find a place.”
He turned on his heel and Ivan grabbed the back of his sweater, jerking him back down into the chair. “You are far too trusting. What if you come across some strange person wanting bad things from you?”
Alfred jumped, bounding for the living room, and dropped to roll under the coffee table. “Is that what you want?! What are these bad things? I won't do it!”
Ivan let out a frustrated sigh. “I am not- I was only warning you. I helped you, why would I do that if I wanted something else?”
“It's called an ulterior motive! A false sense of security!”
Ivan felt a growing urge to strangle the blonde and pushed it down. No, he wanted to keep him around. If he hurt him, he'd scare him off. Ivan walked over to the living room, getting on his hands and knees to peer under the coffee table. Neon blue eyes glared back as Alfred shrunk away like a cat. It was a wonder he could fit under there.
“If I wanted something from you, I would have taken it while you were asleep and vulnerable.”
That seemed to relax Alfred enough to ease the tension in his shoulders. He eyed Ivan with a great amount of suspicion, “you promise you're not up to any funny business?”
“I promise,” Ivan said softly yet firmly.
Alfred studied his face before nodding once, and then wiggled out from under the table. Ivan sat back on his heels, watching him.
It worried Ivan how easy it was to get Alfred to trust him. He would be incredibly easy to take advantage of. He needed to stay, Ivan decided. He could look after him, make sure Alfred stays out of trouble. It shouldn't be too hard to take care of the kid. He kept Sputnik alive just fine.
“Then what am I supposed to do?” Alfred grumbled, eyes cast to the floor. Ivan had a point; any planet you visit would have many bad people, and he had a tendency of trusting people too readily.
“You will stay here,” Ivan said simply.
“You mean, like, live here?” Alfred asked slowly, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Yes.”
“Just like that, you're gonna let me live with you?”
Ivan nodded, “you shall stay in the guest room.”
He fell backwards when Alfred threw himself at him for another hug. He'd have to set up some boundaries. Sputnik wasn't allowed on the counters, and Alfred needed to keep his hands to himself.