It's a language Jude doesn't know, but would like to learn. He squeezes back, unsure of what he's saying, but feeling like it's something in the right direction. Bodhi is trying. Upset as he is, missing as much as he is--he's trying. All Jude can do is try to make him comfortable, and if he wants to really say something--he'll listen.

But there is one question, that presses at him as he disappears through another curtain for the milk, the pan. The kitchen is cold enough he's left it in the sink, in the carafe he carried it over with. There isn't much, but it's enough for a mug: he's already warm, already home for the night. Pouring milk and honey both into a saucepan, he carries it back with the mug, and sits down next to Bodhi while it heats.

He doesn't take up Bodhi's hand again, but he sets it down beside his, knuckle to knuckle and easily in reach. "Is Aurora okay?"