Maudlin.

He offered his arm and willingly I took it, probably leaned upon him more than I should have. But the bright lights and the bright cocktails with the little umbrellas in them swirled together within the orbs of my eyes like eddies glinting mischievously in a maelstrom. "You know you didn't have to," I told him, because I could and can take care of myself. And quietly he patted the hand gripped tightly around his bicep, untangled a strand of long black hair that had settled in with my eyelashes, and led me on.

His steps were slow, not deliberate but shuffling as though they too were wrestling with some invisible opponent. "What if I say something I shouldn't?" he asked, a fair enough question as any I suppose, but here he stopped, pressed my back against the side of a building and stood before me plaintively. His eyebrows pursed anxiously as he searched for an answer, studying intently in hopes that if he looked carefully enough, it would be written somewhere on my face. But I am nothing if not inscrutable, and before he spoke his peace I answered.

We finished the walk to my hotel in silence. A chill wind had stirred up the night air and instead of offering his arm he offered his shoulder. But now my feet were shuffling, my body nestled warmly against his, his ribs steadily expanding and contracting against my breast. And miles and miles we walked together thus, and years and years later we reached my room. And here he stopped, pressed my back against the door and stood before me thoughtfully. When his lips parted I knew exactly what he meant and answered in kind. But we're not kind, neither of us and especially not to each other.

"I'm not ready to see you this happy."

"Don't worry; none of it is true."