He stands in front of her with a clock in his head. The clock counts down as he obsesses over how long this moment or any moment will last. He can almost feel a momentum slip away and this thought runs up his spine like a shiver as he grapples with the fact that life is a chase, and his life is spent in stopping time. (He just hasn’t caught up with it yet.)
She thinks he is listening, talks like words are vases she throws over her shoulder, said with a clatter and a floor full of broken arguments. He’s really very cute, she thinks, if a bit intense.