HHWD

They sit together in front while the rest of the world falls asleep on the drive home. He drives, chats inanities, letting his hand creep, slowly, closer to hers, as if to catch it unawares, but fails.

She retorts, replies and laughs at the appropriate pauses, touching the crook of his arm at times, letting her fingers find their way down to his.

Pairs of watching eyes only observe talking heads from the back seat, not fully aware but assumptive of the interlocked fingers up front and out of sight.

Butterflies dance in their stomachs tonight. It has been a mere week since their last meeting, and possibly another until their next. These few stolen moments, albeit in not wholely unwelcomed company, are golden.

His eyes leave the road periodically to make sure that his hand isn't asleep and dreaming. His heart is telling his mind to tell his hand not to let go of the smaller other locked in his.

Light and tight squeezes; morse code under their banter. "I miss you" conveyed through pleasant palm-pressure. "I miss you too" in soft reply.

She laughs, looks in his direction, flashes a rare smile, sweeps her hair from her face with her free hand, only to unfree it in a secondary enveloping embrace around his, around hers.

Assurance. "I'm here." Long tight squeeze: "I'm real."