I think of Aiden first thing in the morning, his hair mussed by sleep and his arm around my waist. I think of the tiny desk we share at the station and how he’s slowly made space for me there. I think of my name yelled down a cobblestone alley, Aiden appearing between the streetlamps. A too-crowded breakfast table with a plate of toast handed over without a word. His sad eyes and careful smile, the way he keeps himself hidden away. A voice whispering in the dark, at the very edge of a dream. I think you’re the magic.
