The Angel assigned to them requested a transfer twice.

The first time was after sixth grade, when he had stood beside her for an entire fire drill and said nothing except, “Your shoe’s untied.”

It was a failure. An utter failure.

The second time was after prom.

“You put them in the same room,” the Angel told the others. “You give them music. You give them a slow song. You give them mood lighting. What the fuck is wrong with these two?”

God continued watering a small, improbable garden.

“They’re not ready yet.”

Years passed. There were marriages, departures, houses emptied into cardboard boxes, into moving vans. There were good things mishandled by good people who thought good things would wait forever.

He likes tattoos. He loves the pain. Eventually, he stopped noticing.

“Love could become like that, you know,” the Angel worried. “Something extraordinary carried for so long that you forget to look, to care.”

By the time they found each other again, both had learned to hear trouble coming from everywhere, sometimes when it wasn’t.

One evening, he went quiet. Miami.

He was tired. That was all. But she watched him, studying his hands, she felt an old door closing again. It wasn’t.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

Koko rose from the desert. The other dogs followed. Soon they were all barking at something beyond the window, although nothing moved.

He said she reminded him of Koko: fierce at first, frightened at second.

Then she looked at him.

His arms were folded so tight his fingers disappeared.

“I’m not leaving,” he said.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“I know.”

Upstairs, the Angel stopped filling out another transfer request.

He reached for the battered dictionary on the side table. She asked him why, when he has a phone that can find and define any word.

“Sometimes I need to turn pages,” he told her.

He opened it, then shut it again.

“I had something I wanted to say,” he admitted. “A whole dream about us. Now, I can’t find the fucking words.”

“Try to find the good ones then,” she antagonized.

He laughed.

“Okay. I’ve seen people blow-up a good thing. I’ve been those people.”

She unfolded her arms.

“I don’t want us to do that.”

“Neither do I.”

He moved closer, leaving room for her to choose the remaining distance.

“I can live without you,” he said. “I know that sounds terrible.”

“It’s not your strongest opening.”

“I know, but I wanna live with you. I wanna tell you when something’s wrong. I want you to tell me when you’re hurt. I wanna love you.”

She took his hand.

“I want that too.”

There was a part of the evening when the windows became mirrors. Outside disappeared; inside, they could see themselves together.

The dogs circled the bed until they lied down, then pressed up against them with great stretch and enormous sighs. A dog pile.

Girl settles beside boy. Boy settles beside girl.

Above them, the Angel put away the form.

“Finally?” someone asked the Angel.

“Ask me tomorrow.”