Cricket removes his hand. I blink at him, and he cautiously offers his arm. I hesitate. And then I take it. And then we're so close that I smell him. I smell him. His scent is clean like a bar of soap, but with a sweet hint of mechanical oil. We don't speak as he leads me across the street to the bus stop. I press against him. Just a little. His other arm jumps, and he lowers it. But then he raises it again, slowly, and his hand comes to rest on top of mine. It scorches. The heat carries a message: I care about you. I want to be connected to you. Don't let go.
Cricket gently removes his hand, and after a brief moment of hesitation, I accept his offer of support by taking his arm. As we move close together, I become aware of his scent—clean with a subtle hint of mechanical oil—which heightens the intimacy of the moment. We walk silently towards the bus stop, our proximity creating a quiet connection between us.
Cricket's hesitation is visible as he slightly pulls back, but...
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All the things you can talk about in anyone's work are the things that are least important.
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