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.