A few steps ahead of him as they walk up the driveway, she is consistently looking over her shoulder as if he might disappear. She needs constant reassurance that he's really there for so many reasons. Because she still can't believe he's hers. Because she's so afraid of losing him. Because they have so little time together. But tonight, she is concerned mostly because she knows he'd rather be naked in Antarctica than spend Saturday night at her friend's birthday party.

He trudges along kicking up rocks and trying to remember why he ever agreed to come in the first place. As they approach the front steps, she's busy studying him, trying to decipher his typical blank stare devoid of any noticeable emotion. With a sigh, she turns to face forward just in time to trip over the first step. Always graceful, she manages to catch herself with her hand.

"Shit!" she screams looking at her hand which is now bleeding. "Seriously stairs? Was that necessary?" In her frustration she kicks the stairs which of course results in another expletive as her foot begins throbbing.

A few feet back, his eyes are intently focused on this scene and on his face emerges the slightest of smiles. Giving up on the stairs she turns around to face him hopping on one foot with her hurt hand out in front of her. Even the smallest of smiles is obvious on him as they are so rare, but one glare from her quickly erases it.

For her, this is an incredibly painful incident about which she will be tormented all night. Every time someone calls her a clutz or pretends to kick imaginary stairs she'll cringe and laugh it off despite being mortified inside. But his smile will be genuine because even if he can't verbalize it the girl who is never looking where she's going and is always falling over herself is the reason why he agreed to spend his Saturday night at this party.