The train lurches, and jolts Joe from his reverie. He blinks at the landscape beyond the window – rolling hills and low stone walls, an abundance of green. In his mind’s eye he had been walking toward a desert town, fine particles of sand ground beneath his fingernails and chafing between his toes, and the promise of a basin of water at some non-descript inn had been a particularly sweet prospect. He blinks again at the trees and wildflowers in the here and now, and scrubs his hands over his face.
“You have been very quiet,” says Nicky beside him. Joe hums and turns his head, takes in Nicky’s gentle smile. He has a notebook open on the table, the open page almost entirely covered by his sloping handwriting.
“Lost,” Joe says cheerfully. “Thinking of the desert, and the heat, and dreaming of water.”
“Hmmm.” Nicky takes his hand and threads their fingers together, a gesture of familiarity and affection. “Where?”
“I don’t know,” Joe says with a small, soft laugh. “There have been so many places.” He squeezes Nicky’s hand. “But you were beside me, and I am sure I hoped for a room with a heavy door and a lock at whatever inn we might find.”
Nicky’s smile deepens. “I would have liked that.”
“Thick walls,” Joe continues, “to keep the room cool. Small windows with shutters. A bed instead of our packs as pillows and the ground as a mattress.”
Nicky tsks, amused. “Such decadence.”
“It feels like another world.”
Nicky nods fondly. “It was.”
Joe sighs. “And what is left of it?” he asks.
Nicky pulls Joe’s hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles softly. “Us,” he murmurs, and Joe’s heart squeezes. He leans in to steal a better kiss.
