“I’m sure,” he said.

She gave him a moment of study, maybe hearing some new quality in his voice. Lifting an eyebrow, tilting her head. “Oh.”

“What’s that ‘oh’?”

“Something’s different.” Warming, sliding her arm into his, walking toward the Carolina Coffee Shop, where they were headed for food. “Ronny, if you have a boyfriend it’s a good thing. I really do mean it. I know I was weird when you told me. You know.”

He put his arm across her shoulders and they walked side by side. It was a rare thing for him to touch her like this, or to touch anyone. A pigeon settled on the pavement ahead of them, took definite, considered steps toward a bit of crumb, then burst upward again, all feathers and blur.

“I’ll tell you all about it when I’m ready,” he said.

She appeared so very pleased with herself, it was charming to see. They went into the coffee shop and he had a long, lingering cup of coffee with a side of eggs and potatoes. She showed him her latest poem.

Later he said goodbye to her and came home, expecting to write in his journal and go to bed. Into the late evening he sat like that, in peace, reading awhile and stopping and thinking of last night, looking over the paper he had typed for Tate. His life was lost in the air, hanging out there somewhere, having become a cloud around Ben, as if that part of him were realer than this one; his physical body was sitting in a chair holding a book, his spirit was following Ben wherever he went. But after Ronny had read a few pages, the book caught him up again, and he forgot himself. He was close to the end of The Brothers Karamazov, in the trial section, when a knock sounded at the window, Ben’s face pressed against the glass. Ben opened the sash, which had no lock, and slid over the sill onto the bed inside. He was grinning, proud of himself for climbing the roof. “Seemed simpler than knocking.”

“Wow. What a nice burglar.”

He clambered off the bed and pulled Ronny out of the chair. They came together easily, though Ben kept them out of sight of the window. “You have to get a fucking phone.”

“I already told you I can’t afford it.”

“Make friends with the old lady, like I said. You can do it. She’ll let me call you on her phone. I could get her to do it.”

“I bet you could.”

“I will, if I have to. I could have called you half a dozen times today.”

Nice to hear the words, maybe too nice. A moment of happiness could feel almost like a wound. Ben was watching him; Ben was lost, too. Ronny said, “If you start calling me from your dorm room all the time Tate’s going to wonder what’s up.”

“All I wanted was to talk to you. Tate wouldn’t give a shit about that. Nobody else would either. Besides, I’m going home soon.” He was tugging at Ronny’s hair a little, squeezing the back of his neck, playing rough in a tiny way. They stood together like that, Ben framed by the streetlight from the window, his skin warm in lamplight. He smelled like soap and maybe a hint of earth. His jeans looked like he had worn them awhile. After a long breath he shook his head and stepped away.