It is late; the streets are empty, the lone car drives and the lone hero stalks. Together they move through the empty city in silence, moving in opposing directions and never meeting until the morning. He has coffee, she has tea. They don't talk with words, sitting opposite each other in comfortable silence as the world moves around them.

Her knee brushes against his, subtle but present as a reminder. His lips tug at the corners, glancing down before he pays the bill as she watches him silent. They leave together, her small hands in his. His are slick with grease and leave smudges across her cheek and neck. She leaves scratches along his back, desperate and almost needy for the quiet touch.

They don't talk, they don't need to. They understand each other perfectly.