The bus floor is wet from the snow that is dripping from hair, and boots, and the cuffs of too-long jeans. He's standing at the end because there are no empty seats. Holding on to the bar overhead, he motions with his free hand for her to stand by him. She stumbles over, sleepy-eyed and yawning, looking like the rest of the exhausted college students who are slumped over in their seats. He chuckles when her stomach grumbles because she woke up too late for breakfast. Glaring at him, she stretches far above her head to reach the bar, wishing it was just a few inches lower. The bus lurches as it pulls out of the parking lot, and her feet slip out from under her. She clutches the strap of his messenger bag, holding on for dear life. He's laughing again and she can't help the corner of her mouth that quirks up at the sound. He cups her elbow to balance her and politely asks her how she is this fine morning, and she rudely asks him what he thinks. He just smiles slightly again and the other corner of her mouth turns up, much against her will.

His eyes are twinkling in amusement so she thinks he's smirking at her. She sighs in apologetic resignation and asks him if she looks like poo. A smile breaks out on his face that reminds her of the sun she hasn't seen in days, and suddenly she's wide awake as he looks at her intently. He solemnly tells her that she's the prettiest poo he's ever seen. She dips her head, pretending that she's fishing for something in her coat pockets, glad for once that she's short, because now he can't see the smile that she really can't control.