“Oscar,” Jacob repeated. The shift in the tension in the air was palpable. Even though the little guy was curled up warily on the table, getting a name out of him felt like a step forward. A tiny step forward, but it was better than watching him cry and not knowing if he was hurt. Knowing he caused those tears had sent Jacob reeling.
“I’m Jacob,” he replied, allowing the faintest smile to cross his face. “Where, um, where did you come from, Oscar?”
Oscar shrugged, the tiniest little shoulders Jacob had ever seen, and wiped at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I always lived here,” he replied. His voice was still rough from his crying, but it wavered less than before.
“And you came to get food,” Jacob mused. Holy shit. He couldn’t help but think of how desperate Oscar must have been to climb his backpack for food, if someone Jacob’s size inspired this much terror. Was the little guy living out of that bag with nothing else to his name?
Brothers Apart 