The leaves of the cherry ruffle in the wind, the skytrain skims by in the distance, glimpsed strings of square windows necklaced through the sillhouetted leaves.

He reaches over to hold my hand.

It works, this works, I work. It's easy, it just happens when things are right.

That night, the deck and the evening robins, trainspotting, his warmth. Quiet, warm, him, me.

"...because you're not my boyfriend"

"Well, I am now."

You are? I am. Quiet, warm, us.