Silence
The complete absence of sound.
.
It settles over them, distinct and audible.
Silence.
The movement of her neighbour, shifting what can only be a dining room chair, sliding it across the floor above their heads.
He watches as she raises her eyes to the roof, like she's commanding the disruption to cease.
It does.
Her neighbour apparently now comfortable.
He's not.
She's lowered her eyes to her hands again, twisting her fingers around, fidgeting, desperate.
He tugs her against his side, she was there before and if she's going to speak, break this silence, he needs to show her it's okay. It is okay.
She's just slackened against him, turned her attentions to the lint on her pants.
When she startles again, the hum of her fridge, its soft click as it does it's thing, filling or emptying, regulating or just refrigerating. He doesn't know exactly, but she slumps back against him the second he decides it doesn't matter what the appliance is doing.
Apparently she agrees, fiddling with the seam of her jeans, finding some piece of cotton joining the two halves, the front and the back completely out of place and needing the attention of her fingernail to smooth it back into place.
He finally stops her movements, closing his hand over hers, urging her to lie it flat against her leg with a brush of his thumb over her knuckle.
She obeys and gives a shuddered breath, spreading her fingers and letting his sink into the gaps formed, squeezing tightly once he's secured his hand around hers.
Okay, enough.
He hauls her up more, slumping her deeper into his side.
She does stiffen but when he moves his fingers over her arm, gliding over the shoulder not pressed into his armpit, she shifts closer and rests her head on his shoulder and fiddles with his knuckles, kneading the skin over the bone.
She's quiet, but she's content.
He presses his mouth to her cheek, daring, and feels her startle beneath his mouth. He withdraws, ready for her to pull back again, recoil so fiercely she'll get whiplash.
But she doesn't.
She just huffs out a breath and rolls her head against his shoulder, burying her face in his neck.
He can feel the smile against his skin.
No recoil.
No whiplash.
Just an open mouthed kiss against his skin, quick and effective, daring and tender.
She is certainly content.
And so is he.