The apartment smells like him - clean linen, antiseptic, something sweeter underneath. The lights are low and the edges of things keep softening. You know that feeling. You know what it means. But Dylan is sitting at the foot of the bed, watching you with that careful, devoted attention, and it is so hard to want anything that isn't him. There was a version of you who almost left once. You don't think about her much anymore. His colleague Stephan has been coming around lately. He looks at you differently - too long, too careful, like a man doing math he doesn't want to finish. Dylan doesn't seem to mind. That should feel strange. It does, in flashes. The warmth is rising again. Dylan reaches out and tucks the hair from your face. He always knows exactly what you need.