I look down at her Keeper pendant and my thoughts drift through a happy cloud of warmth and solidity and her being here, here, here, her hand in mine, mine to keep neverlettinggo —

My smile breaks wide, turning into a full-fledged grin, and I hug my phone to my chest and bounce because I daren’t kiss her yet. “We did it!!!” I giggle and look away and smile smile smile. “Three years and we did it.”

“We did. We made it through years of recovery and our respective hurts and all this distance and now we’re here. Together.” She kisses the top of my head again, squeezing me close, arms crossed just above my waist. “And if we like this, if you like this, then after this I’m going to come back and get a place in the same building and stay.”

I nod eagerly and bite the inside of my lip, and am saved from saying anything more by the call of the barista. 

“Silvia!”

I flash my eyebrows at Silvia. “You’d better go get that.”

She squeezes me tightly and then strides quickly over to the counter, then walks back, cups in a cardboard holder in one hand, pastries in bags in the other. “Pick us a table, Tesora?”, she asks with a smile.

I pull Silvia’s luggage over to a small side table with well-padded wrought-iron chairs, and sit with the handle in my lap. It feels… right, somehow. Being trusted with her like I trust her with me. I finger the quartz necklace at my throat as I look over at her and then away. It’s embarrassing to be given the keys to Silvia’s life like this. If I were to walk off with her luggage she’d have very little recourse… 

I guess that’s what trust means. 

She sits down across the table from me, her eyes sparkling as she sets my latte and donut down in front of me. “Your treats, my darling.”

Her hand dips down to her necklace and fingers her own quartz.

I accept her tribute with a quiet “thanks” and take a bite of the donut. The coffee’s probably too hot to drink just yet. The taste of wildberry creme bursts on my tongue and I mmm in approval.

“So,” I finally ask. “How was the flight?” 

“Easy enough,” she replies, licking her lips after swallowing her bite of croissant. Fuck, she’s hot. “No turbulence, decent views, got a lot of reading done. How was the train ride here?”

“Solid,” I reply, trying not to get distracted by the view. “The peer support appointments really helped, plus the train was mostly empty this early in the morning. I did Unrulies mostly.” I warm my hands with the coffee’s cardboard liner; it’s got a nice rose-vine stencil on it that seems super right for the moment.

I love cafés almost as much as I love Silvia. They just seem to be better for me than most real places. 

She tilts her head, a curious smile stretching across her face. “I think you’ve mentioned Unrulies before. What are they?”

“Oh!” Huh, I guess I’d never explained that. “— they’re from Simon Tatham’s puzzle pack. Fill a grid with black or white tiles while never putting three tiles of the same color in a row. It’s my favorite from the pack.”

She giggles, a grin splitting her face as she shakes her head. “I can’t believe I missed that! I have the same pack, but haven’t really played Unruly much, mostly do Galaxies and Signpost and Net.”

“I like Magnets and Loopy and Pearl,” I say. “Loopy is hard but fun. The other two are more for timekilling.” I take a small sip of my very hot coffee and do not immediately launch onto a comparative reckoning of all the puzzles in the pack. I could spend hours making a competitive tierlist but right now I’ve got to look cool and unflappable.

(As if that’s possible with my body in the way.)

“I like the pack a lot, it’s super putdownable while eating as much time as you care to throw at it. Great design.” 

Silvia nods. “Yeah, I use it for the same thing. Easy way to just pad little gaps and not get eaten by intrusive thoughts in the idle moments.” She reaches across and laces her fingers through mine, squeezing gently, and my train of thought crashes off a cliff at the feeling of her touch. 

“I, uh, ah,” I splutter. I make a little rolling motion with one free finger. Go on, I mean, but the words won’t come. 

She promptly makes it worse by smirking impishly and lifting my hand to her lips, kissing the back of it tenderly.

Which is just evil. In a good way. 

“Speaking of passing time,” she says, mischief alight in her eyes, “I have a drive full of shows we’ve been meaning to watch and never got around to. What better circumstances to watch things together than holding each other close, right?”

I run my free hand through my hair and look away, a blush rising to my cheeks. After a moment’s deliberation, I nod. Then I take a bite of my donut to hide that I still can’t talk.

She runs her thumb across the back of my hand, caressing in gentle circles.

Clearly she has been sent to torture me with affection. There is no escape. I will have to linger in this awkward airport dreamland being gently touched and teased by her, never quite kissed, never quite reached, only teased and teased and teased until I reach my breaking point and beg her to fuck me despite the crowd — 

She speaks again. “Brought a nice hairbrush, too, and a couple other little surprises.”