Even for Wrench, it’s a lot of touching. The big man craves connection in ways he hasn’t yet come to admit to himself, but he’s been on his own for so long that just being in the presence of others feels like navigating an entirely different world. He can’t tell at first if he’s getting through to the stranger, but there’s no question their efforts have drawn another set of eyes. From across the shelter, a young boy gazes over a volume of children’s tales. The woman at his side - presumably his mother - takes no notice of her son’s staring, but Wrench makes a face at him over Arthur’s shoulder before turning back to his ironic companion.

He sees realization cross his features and lets the man break their grasp. Arthur might have been good not to laugh, but the same urge isn’t so easy for Wrench to tamp down. It explodes through his nose as an amused snort, a breath of air so heavy it can’t be mistaken. Yet the sound of it doesn’t quite match the picture of the vast man from which it came; it’s higher in pitch and more nasal than someone might be expecting. There’s another sound as Wrench tries to snuffle it out and return himself to quiet stillness again, but he taps the man’s knee twice as if to say, Yes, I know.

Now that it’s all out in the open he figures the man might just forgive him for his grasp, so Wrench takes the man by the wrist again and fans his fingers to reveal his palm. With the tip of his index finger, he draws three uppercase letters, and then a question mark: A B C ?

Maybe the man hasn’t always been blind.