I pick up half a ham sandwich, and take a second to control my fangs before taking a bite. (I’m getting better at this.) Simon takes a sandwich as soon as I do, and shoves most of it into his mouth. He bites down, and his face lights up. He’s kissing my cheek now, holding his tea out to the side, so it won’t spill.

“What’s that about?” I ask.

He noses at my ear. Softly: “There’s butter on these ham sandwiches.”

“I thought you liked them that way.”

He nips at me. “I do.”

Then he pulls back, still smiling. What a ridiculous creature. Happy that I put butter on his sandwich. As if I wouldn’t make the world spin backwards if I thought he’d like it better that way.

“I haven’t eaten since last night,” he says, taking another sandwich.

“I haven’t eaten since the train yesterday.”

“That’s not true, you had rats.”

“I didn’t eat them,” I say.

“Maybe you should. There’d be less waste.”

“Maybe you should eat them. Then it could be something we do together.”

Snow laughs. He’s curling towards me as he eats. His legs are tucked up, and he’s leaning on me, his left wing pushing behind my shoulder. I move forward a bit, and he spreads it out, wrapping it around my back. The inside of his wings is softer than the outside. It’s rather like being wrapped in a suede blanket.

I can feel myself tensing up. Moments like this with Simon are so few and far between, and I never know what will startle him out of one. Or when he’ll collapse entirely. It’s like trying to be in a relationship with one of those fields Princess Diana was always drawing worthy attention to—the war is over, the armies have gone home, but no one knows where the mines are buried.

What does it even mean that Simon’s going to try now? How does a minefield try?

He picks up the last sandwich and offers me half. I take it, and he moves the plate away, pulling his legs up closer. Then he says, “This is what people are talking about when they talk about make-up sex, isn’t it?”

I choke on my tea. “Not exactly.”

He laughs at me. “No, I mean … It’s like when you think you’re going to die—like, you’re sure you’re about to lose your head—and then, at the last minute, you don’t. The other guy bites it instead. And it feels like you cheated somehow—”

“Knowing you, you probably did cheat somehow.”

“—but you’re still alive, and everything feels so amazing and, like, urgent. Like, you can’t believe how lucky you are to breathe, and you just want to breathe all the air at once.”