If there was a word to describe the way that she acted around him, that word would be careful. A constant monitoring, ticking in the back of her head. A metronome: sometimes lazily drooping back and forth, as though it would stop any moment, others when it ticked so fast she couldn't hear. Open your mouth and you're dead, it said.

It was another day. A day where dishes are stacked on top of one another in such a way that if the bowl under the Tupperware container was removed the whole thing might come down. So she opened the cupboard above, instead. Removed the painted ceramic. Chose Frosted Flakes over Froot Loops. And she sat on the computer chair, put the bowl over top sticky coffee-rings from the past week, and munched.