In his usual silent way, Joji stepped up beside Thomas where the man sat, and tapped the small book in his hand against his shoulder. It was a book of poetry- English, of course, or some other western place, he wasn’t actually sure. The imagery seemed insufficient to him, but he understood that those born to this language liked it well enough- and Thomas liked to read. Joji tapped again.

Thomas was lost in thought often enough that he had become accustomed to the crew drawing him back into reality physically. He no longer jumped at the grips on his shoulder, or even felt offense at the occasional whacks upside the back of his head followed by commands – more often than not those strikes and orders kept him alive in the long run, and he could hardly expect these men to be patient with him when he was barely tolerant of his own behaviour as it was! 

So at first, the tap did not receive immediate response beyond a glance up, an expectation of command shifting to a note of confusion when he saw who it was. The second tap drew his attention to the source, and he realized rather swiftly what was going on. 

Charmed, Thomas accepted the book and examined it. The cover was in fine condition, as were the pages. Inspecting the spine, his lips curved in pleasure as he recognized the author. When was the last time he’d held Chaucer in his hands? 

Looking up, he offered a warm smile. “This is in surprisingly good condition all things considered. Were you looking for an appraisal or – ?” He did not presume the man wished the book read to him – Thomas had seen him with books just enough times to know he was far more literate than he was verbal, so he could only assume the man was checking the worth of keeping this one. It did not yet occur to him it might be a gift.