We leaned into each other's personal space.
The pebbled surface of her bicep rubbed against my tattoo the skin gently rasping.
When she stepped close, close enough our arms brushed, I was reminded of how well she knew me.
We shared a dark intimacy over identical experiences.
She understood my demons on a deeper level.
I felt less alone with her, less fake.
Our mutual knowledge of the other meant I didn't have to pretend.
When I had to leave home she sheltered me.
For a week I learned about her experiences, quirks, triggers, and lifestyle.
Nothing was left out.
It took three nights before I could be coaxed into her bed.
I had been sleeping in the closest unwilling to join her.
She lent me her car during my stay.
Her driving privileges were temporarily revoked.
I drove her everywhere.
Everything we did had an undercurrent of personal knowing.
It was a private understanding of the other.
It brought us closer in more ways than proximity.