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[ He doesn't think it would be comfortable, leaning into him like this - his bony shoulder blades and bumps of spine, but it doesn't seem to bother her. Her content is his own, her elation at the performers' tricks bubbling up his throat. The beat of his-her heart presses against his back, her laughter both high and low, drumming between ribs and carrying in his ears-mind. Time compresses in small spaces, moves more slowly. His gaze settles on a corner of her smile for an hour only to flick back up to her eyes. His pale skin is flushed. Within their entwined fingers her hand is small. ]

I think she'd love that.

[ He's never known someone so joyful before, and maybe that's why, in this heady moment, he feels a little bit in love with her. ]