When the Days Grow Short

Chapter 8
Family Sizes Available

Chapter Description: The farm shop promises something for every member of the family. Dan only needs a warmer coat—though everyone seems far more concerned with what he is wearing underneath.

The farm shop occupied the lower floor of a converted barn.

Bells chimed above the door as Hannah led Dan inside.

Heat enveloped them immediately. The shop smelled of cedar, wool and spiced candles. Wooden shelves held preserves, pottery and folded clothing. Orange lights had been wound around the rafters, and dried leaves hung in garlands over the displays.

Dan’s coat became too warm at once.

Hannah released his hand only to unzip it.

“I can—”

She had already finished.

Cooler air entered around his chest. Beneath the overalls, the padded garment responded differently to the warmth. Its damp centre remained heavy between his thighs, but the edges softened and settled more closely around him. The clean cinnamon-and-cedar smell of the shop did not entirely cover the stale trace that rose whenever he moved.

Dan shifted his weight. 

Hannah gave him the plush crow.

His fingers closed around it.

Sophie had already drifted toward a section marked LITTLE HARVESTERS.

Tiny clothes hung from wooden pegs: knitted cardigans, quilted jackets, soft hats with animal ears and one-piece pyjamas patterned with pumpkins, foxes and falling leaves.

Sophie lifted a cream-coloured sleeper printed with small orange acorns.

“Oh my God.”

Hannah came to stand beside her.

“That’s darling.”

“It’s so tiny.”

“They get smaller."

“That is not helpful.”

Sophie held it against her stomach, imagining the shape that would eventually fill it. Nate stood behind her with a look Dan had never seen on his face before—quiet, terrified happiness.

Dan remained near the aisle.

His thumb entered his mouth.

The shop’s warmth, the soft bird beneath his arm and the rhythmic pressure of his mouth quieted something in him. The image from the photograph remained close—his own hollowed cheek, the wet line on his chin—but the knowledge did not make his thumb feel foreign.

It felt worse than foreign.

It felt familiar.

Hannah looked over.

Dan froze.

She smiled.

Not amused.

Fond.

Then she turned back to the display.

Dan meant to remove his thumb.

Instead, his mouth drew on it once more.

His shoulders loosened. The crow’s corduroy wing compressed beneath his forearm. Heat rested against his face and chest, while the thick material beneath his overalls held the cooler dampness from the ride close around his hips.

Something fluttered low in his stomach.

Dan shifted one foot.

The sensation disappeared.

He watched Hannah and Sophie compare the tiny sleeper with a knitted cardigan. Their voices became soft beneath the music playing through the shop. His tongue moved lazily against his thumb. His breathing settled into the same slow rhythm.

Warmth began to gather inside the padding.

There was no urgency attached to it. Nothing sharp enough to demand his attention. The garment was already damp, already close and humid from the hayride; the new warmth seemed at first like the shop reaching him through the layers.

It spread gradually beneath his stomach and around his groin.

Dan’s eyelids lowered.

The faint pressure inside him eased. The padding accepted the warmth without allowing it to travel farther. Its inner softness changed almost imperceptibly, becoming heavier and more closely moulded to him while the overalls remained dry.

His mouth continued working around his thumb. 

By the time Dan noticed that something felt different, the warmth had already begun to fade. 

He looked down.

The green cotton showed nothing.

He pressed his thighs together experimentally. The thick centre resisted with greater weight than before, warm where it had been cold only moments earlier.

Dan frowned.

Had the shop really heated him that quickly?

Sophie laughed at something Nate said.

Dan removed his thumb and wiped it against his coat. The question drifted away before he could fit words around it.

Sophie had found a pumpkin-patterned one-piece garment. It was burnt orange with dark green cuffs and a small hood shaped like a leaf.

“Nate.”

He looked at it.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Our child will look like produce.”

“Our child will look adorable.”

Hannah laughed and began searching through the sizes.

“This is newborn. You’ll want three to six months if it’s for next autumn.”

Dan wandered closer.

The pumpkin sleeper disappeared into Sophie’s basket.

Next came a cream cable-knit cardigan, rust-coloured trousers and a tiny green hat with a pompom. Hannah held each item while Sophie compared them.

Beneath the infant display stood another sign:

MATCH THE WHOLE PATCH!  

FAMILY SIZES AVAILABLE

Hannah noticed it first.

She followed the arrow to a rack along the neighbouring wall.

The same pumpkin pattern appeared there in larger sizes.

Children’s sizes became teenage sizes, then adult. The final garments were full-length union suits made from thick brushed cotton, burnt orange with green cuffs and leaf-shaped hoods.

Hannah pulled one from the rack.

Dan stared at it.

“No.”

She checked the label. 

“This is your size.”

“I’m not wearing that.”

“Not now, not ever.”

“It’s pyjamas.”

“I own pyjamas.”

“You sleep in old T-shirts.”

“Those are pyjamas.”

Hannah held the garment against him. The legs ended near his ankles. The hood dangled over his shoulder.

Sophie looked delighted.

“You could match.”

Dan glanced at the tiny pumpkin sleeper in her basket.

“I am not matching your unborn child.”

“Why not?” Nate asked.

“Because I’m an adult.”

The sentence should have ended the discussion.

Instead, Hannah turned the garment around and examined its construction.

“It has snaps.”

Dan’s stomach tightened.

The snaps ran along the inside of both legs and met beneath the seat.

“Why does that matter?”

Hannah rubbed one fastening between her fingers.

“It’ll be easier.”

The shop continued around them. A till chimed. Tissue paper rustled. Somewhere near the candles, a customer lifted a lid and inhaled appreciatively.

Dan looked from the snaps to Hannah.

“Easier for what?”

She folded the garment over her arm, distracted from his question by another item on the rack.

 The pumpkin suit joined Sophie’s basket.

Dan watched it disappear beneath the infant clothes.

“Who is paying for that?”

“I am,” Hannah said.

“I don’t want it.”

“You’ll like it at home.”

They did not live together.

Dan knew this.

He had paid the rent on his own apartment three days ago. He could see the confirmation in his banking app: the amount, the date, the landlord’s name. One of the keys in the pocket of his wet jeans opened the front door.

What colour was that door?

Dan pictured a narrow hallway. Or perhaps the hallway belonged to Hannah’s building. Her toothbrush stood in his bathroom. Half her clothes occupied his wardrobe. She had a key, although he could not remember giving it to her.

He tried to picture his bedroom without Hannah inside it.

The bed remained.

The rest of the room blurred.

Dan gripped the plush crow tightly enough to bend one corduroy wing.

Sophie found a rack of knitted autumn hats. She selected a tiny mustard-yellow one with earflaps for the baby.

Hannah touched a larger version hanging beside it.

“This is cute.”

Dan stepped back.

“No.”

“You’re cold.”

“I’m sweating.”

“You were freezing on the hayride.”

“I wasn’t.”

Hannah removed the hat from its peg.

It was mustard wool, lined with fleece. The earflaps ended in braided ties. A round brown pompom sat on top.

Dan raised both hands.

Hannah gave the plush crow to Nate.

Then she placed the hat over Dan’s head.

The fleece enclosed his ears. The pompom bounced when he turned away. Hannah pulled the flaps straight and tied the cords loosely beneath his chin.

Dan reached for the knot.

She moved his hands aside.

“Wait.”

“Hannah.”

She adjusted the front edge, smoothing his hair beneath it.

“There.”

Sophie held the baby hat beside Dan’s.

“They match.”

Nate lifted the plush crow as though consulting it.

“The crow approves.”

Dan looked toward the nearest mirror.

The hat rounded his head and covered most of his hair. Its earflaps framed his face. The green overalls rose high beneath his open coat. His waist appeared thick, his stance slightly bowed around the padding.

His thumb hovered near his mouth.

He dropped his hand.

“No.”

Hannah stood behind him in the mirror. She placed both hands on his shoulders.

“You look sweet.”

“I look ridiculous.”

“It’s keeping you warm.”

“I don’t need it.”

She untied the hat.

Relief came too quickly.

Then she removed the price tag, placed the hat back on his head and retied it.

“We’ll take it.”

Dan stared at her reflection.

Hannah’s attention had already shifted toward a rack of soft quilted jackets. She selected one in dark rust with a corduroy collar and a small embroidered fox near the pocket.

“His coat is fine,” Nate said.

For a moment, gratitude loosened Dan’s chest.

Hannah touched a faint curry stain near the zipper of Dan’s coat.

“It’s dirty.”

“It’s one spot.”

“The rust one will look better with the overalls.”

Sophie held it against him.

“Definitely.”

Dan stepped away, but Nate was behind him holding the crow and the shopping basket.

Hannah unzipped Dan’s coat.

The women changed him between them with the ease of dressing a mannequin. Hannah drew one sleeve free. Sophie held the new jacket open. Dan turned when guided, raised an arm when touched and found himself inside the rust-coloured jacket before he had clearly decided whether to cooperate.

It was shorter than his own coat.

When Hannah zipped it, the hem ended just above the smiling apple on his backside.

She turned him toward the mirror.

The jacket was warm and well-made. Its colour suited the green overalls. The mustard hat completed the outfit with humiliating precision.

Dan looked like he belonged to the farm.

Hannah adjusted the collar.

Sophie stepped back.

“Adorable.”

She glanced toward the queue forming at the till and lifted the basket higher on her arm.

“I’m going to pay before this gets worse.”

“Coward,” Hannah said.

Nate returned the plush crow to Dan, then gathered Dan’s old coat from the end of the rack.

“We’ll meet you at the register.”

Sophie went first. Nate followed with the coat folded over one arm, leaving Hannah and Dan alone before the mirror.

“No.”

The word came out harder than Dan intended.

He caught the braided ties beneath his chin and pulled at the knot. It tightened instead of loosening. The wool pressed closer beneath his jaw.

“I'm taking it off.”

Hannah reached for his hands.

Dan knocked them away.

The movement startled Hannah.

For one clean second, the shock on Hannah’s face felt like a victory. He seized the front of the rust-coloured jacket and dragged the zipper downward. The fox pocket folded beneath his fist. One shoulder came free before Hannah caught the empty sleeve with one hand and his wrist with the other.

“Dan.”

“I said I don’t want it.”

His voice had risen. A woman near the candle display looked over.

Dan pulled again. The short jacket twisted across his back, pinning one elbow while the other sleeve remained firmly on. Beneath it, the green overalls tightened across his stomach. The hidden padding compressed between his thighs as he struggled, answering every movement with a thick sequence of crinkles.

Hannah’s irritation vanished.

Her eyes dropped immediately to his waist.

“Is something bothering you?”

Dan stared at her.

“Yes. This.”

He jerked the trapped sleeve.

Hannah followed the movement only briefly. Her attention had already settled lower, on the way he stood with his legs apart and shifted against the dense bulk beneath the overalls.

“It feels uncomfortable?”

“It looks ridiculous.”

“I’m asking how it feels.”

Dan opened his mouth.

Warm. Heavy. Humid. Too close around him. None of those words had anything to do with the hat or jacket, and saying them would concede the direction in which she had turned the conversation.

“Take the clothes off.” 

Hannah misunderstood him completely.

Or perhaps Dan had.

She drew the twisted sleeve back over his shoulder before he could pull free of it. Her hands travelled down his arms, straightening the quilted fabric and restoring the jacket around him with a few brisk tugs. Dan resisted just enough to make each adjustment awkward, but not enough to stop her. When she released him, the jacket was once again sitting neatly over the overalls, while his pulse beat furiously beneath the corduroy collar.

A woman arranging folded scarves at the end of the rack glanced over.

She wore the same orange apron as the attendants at the entrance. A small enamel apple had been pinned above her name badge.

Her eyes travelled over the mustard hat, the new jacket and the green overalls. They paused at Dan’s waist.

The warmth beneath the cotton had continued to settle. Standing still made the changed weight more noticeable. The padding no longer felt merely damp; it felt softly dense, its centre pressing lower between his thighs while its front remained snug against his stomach.

Dan shifted.

The material answered with a thick crinkle.

The assistant looked at Hannah.

“There’s a family fitting room behind the till if you need to check him.”

Dan glanced at the new jacket.

“It fits fine, that's not the issue.”

The assistant’s expression did not change.

Hannah looked down at him, then toward the fitting-room sign.

“I can do it here.”

Dan turned to her.

“Do what?”

Hannah took the plush crow from his arms and passed it to the assistant.

The woman accepted it naturally, cradling the offended-looking bird against her apron.

“Hold still,” Hannah said.

She placed both hands on Dan’s shoulders and turned him toward the full-length mirror.

His reflection faced him beneath the warm orange lights: mustard hat, rust jacket, green overalls, hands left abruptly empty. Behind him, Hannah bent toward his waist. The assistant stood slightly to one side holding his toy.

Customers moved through the aisle reflected beyond them.

Dan reached for the hem of the new jacket.

Hannah caught his hands and placed them against his stomach.

“Keep them there.”

Then she lifted the jacket herself.

Cooler air moved across the small of his back. The hem rose above the smiling apple, exposing the entire padded curve of the overalls beneath it.

Dan watched in the mirror.

“Hannah.”

She unhooked the clasp at his right shoulder.

Then the left.

The green bib fell forward. Its weight pulled the front of the overalls down until the upper edge rested across his hips. Hannah unfastened one metal button at his waist, then reached across him and opened the other.

Four small clicks.

Each seemed louder than the last.

The overalls loosened around him. Without the shoulder straps holding them up, the green cotton sagged several inches and caught on the bulk underneath. The smiling apple folded across the back. At the front, his sweater ended above a broad expanse of thick white material.

Dan stopped breathing.

The garment rose nearly to his navel. Colored cartoon leaves crossed the plastic surface, though the printing had faded where the swollen centre pulled it taut. Lower down, the white had taken on a faint creamy-yellow cast. Its weight dragged gently at the waistband, leaving it sitting lower on one hip than the other.

He could see it.

So could anyone walking past.

“What are you doing?”

Hannah put one hand against his stomach to keep the loosened overalls from sliding farther. With the other, she opened the back waistband and looked inside.

Cool shop air entered around him.

Dan shivered.

Hannah slid two fingers down behind him.

The white edge pulled away from the base of his spine, then closed softly around her knuckles. Her fingertips pressed between his skin and the padding, testing the warmer, thicker material below. It compressed with a damp papery sigh. Moisture shifted inside it—not liquid exactly, but a cool, saturated heaviness that redistributed beneath her touch and slowly swelled back when she released the pressure.

The sensation travelled inward. Dan felt it along the backs of his thighs and beneath him, a clammy yielding that made the garment seem less like clothing than something holding the shape of what his body had already done.

He stiffened.

A woman carrying three jars of preserves passed behind them in the mirror. Her eyes moved from Hannah’s bent head to the opened overalls and the exposed white padding around Dan’s hips.

Dan waited for her to object.

The woman merely gave Hannah a sympathetic smile and stepped around them.

Another customer reached past the assistant for a folded scarf. He did not complain that an adult man was standing half-undressed in the middle of the shop. He did not even appear surprised.

No one asked Hannah to cover him.

No one asked Dan whether he wanted to be covered.

The absence of outrage made the display feel less accidental. It suggested that everyone else understood what was happening and that Dan alone had somehow missed the rule permitting it.

His hand rose to his mouth.

His thumb slipped between his lips before he recognized the movement. Warm suction closed around it. His tongue pressed against the damp pad, and some small, treacherous part of his body loosened.

Dan hated the relief.

He hated himself more for continuing.

Hannah withdrew her fingers from the back.

“The back’s still all right.”

She said it to the assistant.

Dan drew hard on his thumb. The wet sound it made seemed as public as the stained white garment showing above his sagging overalls.

“Whah does tha mean?”

Neither woman answered.

Hannah moved around him.

The loosened bib hung against his thighs. She lifted the front of his sweater a little higher, fully uncovering the padded waistband and the rounded front beneath it.

Dan tried to catch the green bib and pull it up.

Hannah intercepted his wrist.

“Hands up.”

His thumb left his mouth with a soft pop.

“People can see me.”

“There’s nothing showing.”

Dan looked down at the thick sagging undergarment exposed from his hips to his stomach.

The answer was so plainly false that for a moment he wondered whether they were using different definitions of *nothing*.

Hannah placed his hands against his chest. When his thumb returned to the corner of his mouth, she left it there.

Her palm settled against the front of the padding.

She pressed.

The swollen fibres yielded with a cool, dense softness. Moisture moved through the interior in a slow spreading pressure, displaced beneath the heel of her hand and drawn back when she eased away. The outer plastic remained dry, but the material inside felt saturated enough that Dan could sense its weight shifting around him.

It sagged lower when she released it.

Hannah pressed again, firmer.

The damp padding moulded inward around Dan’s groin. The warmth held close to his skin was briefly replaced by a cooler patch where the absorbed moisture redistributed. Then the heat of his body began filling it again.

Plastic crackled loudly in the quiet pocket between them.

Dan remembered the hayride.

The jolting trailer. The blanket. The pressure he had mistaken for desire, followed by that private rush and the enormous relief when his overalls remained dry.

Was this what Hannah was feeling now?

Could she tell what he had believed he was doing?

Could the assistant?

Hannah hooked two fingers inside the front waistband.

Dan’s mouth stopped moving around his thumb.

Her fingers slid between the padding and his lower stomach. The damp interior dragged faintly against the back of her knuckles as she reached down to test how fully the centre had swollen.

One fingertip brushed the head of his member accidentally.

The contact was brief—nothing more than skin against skin before the padding shifted between them again.

Dan jerked, knees weak for a moment.

His heel caught against the other shoe. The loosened overalls slipped another inch down his hips.

Hannah’s free arm closed around his waist before he could fall.

“Easy.”

She held him upright against her while her fingers withdrew. The white garment crackled between their bodies. Its weighted front swung slightly and settled back against him, lower and more discoloured than it had appeared before she opened his clothes.

Dan’s face burned so fiercely that the wool hat became unbearable around his ears.

The accidental touch had awakened a confused spark of the same bodily response as the hayride. It vanished almost immediately beneath humiliation, leaving him unsure whether anything had happened at all.

His thumb returned fully to his mouth.

He sucked hard, furious at Hannah, at the watching assistant, at the padding sagging visibly around his hips—and most of all at the fact that he still could not make the pieces form a name.

White plastic.

Coloured leaves at the waistband.

Elastic gathers.

Warm, wet thickness held against his groin.

An adult man should have known what he was looking at.

Dan knew that.

The knowledge refused to arrive.

“Did you go again?” Hannah asked.

He stared at her.

His thumb remained lodged in the corner of his mouth. He pulled it free, a thin thread of saliva stretching briefly before it broke against his knuckle.

“Go where?”

The assistant looked down at the crow.

Hannah’s expression softened.

“Did you have another tingle?”

“No.”

The answer came immediately. Honestly.

Hannah kept her palm against him.

“You did.”

Dan looked down at her hand resting against the exposed stained padding.

“I didn’t.”

“All right.”

Her agreement was gentle and absolute. It did not mean she believed him. It meant his knowledge of what his own body had done was not required.

Hannah moved her hand along one side of the exposed padding. Her fingers found the gathered edge at his thigh and followed it briefly, checking that it still sat in place. She repeated the motion on the other side.

The elastic responded beneath her fingertips with tiny, resisting pulls.

Dan stood with one hand against his chest and his thumb in his mouth, watching himself be examined.

The mustard ties hung beneath his burning face.

The assistant shifted the crow to her other arm.

“He’s wetter in front,” Hannah said. “The back is mostly dry.”

“He should be fine for a while,” the assistant replied.

Dan’s stomach dropped.

They were discussing him as if he were not standing between them.

“Fine for what?” he asked.

The assistant smiled reassuringly.

Hannah kept one hand at his waist.

“I can change you now,” she said. “If that’s what all this is about.”

Dan looked from her hand toward the register, where Sophie had carried the basket of folded clothes.

For half a second, the offer seemed to mean the hat and the jacket. She could put him back into his own coat, untie the wool beneath his chin and return the absurd new outfit to its hangers.

Then Hannah’s fingers pressed lightly into the padded front of the white undergarment.

The meaning shifted.

“You don’t really need it yet,” she continued. “But we don’t have to wait until you do.”

The words left the object unnamed. They also left Dan uncertain whether *it* meant another accident, the padding becoming fuller, or the moment when Hannah would decide he had worn it long enough.

She glanced toward the family fitting room.

“We can get you out of this one and into something fresh.”

Dan’s face burned.

“No.”

“You said you wanted the clothes off.”

“Not that.”

The refusal came loudly enough to turn the woman at the candle display a second time.

Dan clutched the front of the new jacket closed with both hands, abruptly defending the outfit he had been fighting to remove. The rust-coloured fabric hid his swollen waist. His hands, empty now that the assistant held the crow, crossed protectively over the fox pocket.

Hannah watched him for a moment.

“Then you can stay as you are.”

From the front of the shop, Nate called, “Everything all right back there?”

Dan looked toward his voice.

“Fine.”

Hannah answered at the same time.

“He’s fine for now.”

The slight difference between their answers seemed to hang in the warm air.

Nate appeared briefly at the end of the aisle. His gaze took in Dan’s half-zipped jacket, the loosened overall bib and Hannah’s hand still resting near his waist.

Whatever question he had intended to ask disappeared.

“We’re ready when you are,” he said.

Then he returned to Sophie by the register.

The assistant’s smile did not change.

“The shorter jacket makes it much easier to check.”

Hannah began putting him back together.

She pulled the white waistband level around his hips, correcting the side that had sagged lower. The dampened front shifted heavily beneath her hands. Then she raised the green overalls, fastened both metal buttons at his waist and drew the bib back up his stomach.

One shoulder clasp clicked into place.

Then the other.

Hannah smoothed both palms over his stomach. The padding crinkled beneath the restored layers. Finally, she pulled the jacket down.

Its hem stopped above the smiling apple exactly as before.

Dan had thought Hannah chose it because his old coat was stained.

The assistant’s comment rearranged the entire decision.

Hannah zipped the jacket to his chest and straightened the fox pocket.

“There.”

Dan lowered one hand toward the front of the overalls.

He needed to feel what they had felt. He needed to understand how Hannah could know something had happened when he had not known it himself.

She intercepted him.

“I just checked you. Leave it alone.”

The assistant returned the plush crow.

Dan accepted it with both hands.

Its corduroy body covered the place he had wanted to touch.

“I’ll put an extra in the bag.”

The assistant led them toward the till. Hannah took Dan’s hand and followed, preventing him from falling behind while the newly adjusted padding settled heavily between his thighs.

Sophie had already placed the basket on the counter. Nate stood beside her with Dan’s old coat over one arm.

The assistant reached beneath the till and lifted something folded and white.

Dan saw a flash of pale blue printing. A broad padded corner unfolded beneath its own weight before she compressed it again and slipped it beneath the pumpkin pyjamas in Sophie’s basket.

The item vanished.

No one explained what it was.

Dan opened his mouth.

His thumb entered first.

The wool tie beneath his chin brushed his wrist as he sucked.

In the mirror, a faint shine appeared at the corner of his mouth.

Dan pulled his thumb free.

The sound was wet and unmistakable.

Nobody reacted.

Hannah simply wiped his chin with her thumb and settled the plush crow more securely into Dan’s arms.

“Keep hold of him.”

Dan looked down at the black corduroy bird against his new jacket.

Nate passed Dan’s old coat to Hannah. Something heavy knocked inside its pocket.

Dan remembered his phone.

“Give me that.”

Hannah reached into the pocket before handing it over.

She removed his phone, then his wallet.

“I’ll hold these.”

“Why?”

“You’ve got your hands full.”

Dan looked at the crow.

He could hold the bird beneath one arm. He could put his phone into the fox pocket of the new jacket. He could insist.

Hannah’s handbag was already open.

His phone and wallet disappeared inside.

Dan tried to remember the last time he had held either one.

The maze, perhaps. No—he had left his phone somewhere before that. Had Hannah carried it all day?

The question loosened before he could grip it.

Tiny clothes lay beneath the adult pumpkin pyjamas. The matching hats rested side by side on top.

The cashier lifted each item with the same pleasant smile. She did not pause when the infant sleeper was followed by the much larger version. She scanned the little hat, then glanced at the one tied beneath Dan’s chin.

“Keeping that on?”

“Yes,” Hannah said.

The cashier removed the remaining tag from behind Dan’s ear.

“Good. It suits him.”

Dan touched the braided tie.

The cashier folded the pumpkin pyjamas and laid them over the baby clothes.

“Would you like the receipt?”

Hannah accepted it.

“Just in case.”

“You won’t need it,” Sophie said.

The certainty in her voice made both women smile.

Nate took the shopping bag and Dan’s old coat. Then he placed one hand between Dan’s shoulders and guided him toward the door.

Dan caught one last glimpse of himself in the mirror.

Thick waist.

Short jacket.

Green overalls.

Mustard ties beneath his chin.

The padded seat rounded below the hem.

Something was missing.

His thumb began to rise.

Dan did not remember deciding to move it.

The reflection looked complete before it reached his mouth.