You see him on Tibb Street with his boots high on his calves, your red scarf trailing behind him, not quite touching the pavement; you see him with his collar turned up against the cold, and his hands hidden deep in his pockets, and you also see his refusal to huddle in against the cold, face bared to the elements. He still doesn't notice you walking behind him as he hurries to the cafe where you're supposed to be meeting. You check your watch; he's late, and you're even later. You see how he checks out the cafe in a single glance, registering your absence, then you see him stand in the queue with his head slightly angled, you see him lean in against the counter, conspiring with the waitress with the jeans and the over-the-knee boots, blithely ignoring everyone in the queue behind him. You see him lean over the counter and touch her hand, whispering and making her laugh; she pushes him away gently, and he walks off, and you know his order will get priority in the busy kitchen. He goes to find somewhere to sit, and when he stretches you see that his belly has flattened and tightened, and you wonder whatever happened to that beer belly he'd been nursing with such lack of embarrassment and you think, for just one moment, that maybe it's because... and then you push the thought away before it has time to form fully and push the door open.
You see him in the morning light in the studio flat and you see him preening, you see him waiting impatiently while you refuse to get up so early, you hear him put the music on loud and dance about, until you finally give in, get up and teach him some ballet, and you see him intuiting a move that, if you remember correctly, took you hours to learn and you try to sulk and he won't let you and insists you teach him something more complicated, so you try a lift, and you do, and it works pretty well, except he lets you both fall back onto the bed, and you push him away. You see him through winter, through spring, through summer, and everytime, now you think of it, he seems larger to you and more magnetic, and you're at a loss to explain what's happening.
You see him steal your beret, and once you see him wearing it out and you compliment him and he walks past laughing softly but he doesn't pause to say anything back and all those times he doesn't even look in your direction and acknowledge your presence you feel a little bit lonelier, a little bit more lost, and you want to ask him if he ever met someone he likes more than himself, but you think you know the answer and because the answer might strike a resonating chord you don't ask, and then suddenly, another time, he'll run across the road towards you, arms open wide and you begin to think maybe you were wrong; and you wonder exactly where it was you went wrong, took that misstep, you know there's something missing but you can't work out what it is, and you begin to feel slightly scared and confused, and then, one day you see him practising one of the dance moves you taught him and he jumps shyly when he notices you watching him, brusquely demands you mirror image a dance step and you comply because you love seeing him intuit ballet, it's like seeing yourself, and you want to move, break the double image but you can't and you realise you've always been the others double, a shadow of the other, and you laugh, but later when he moves away, a quick kiss goodbye, the light is gone, and you stand out on the balcony alone that evening watching the city without really seeing it and you realise just how much of yourself has disappeared. And then you hear him letting himself back in, coming straight to where you are, and you put your mask back on, smile and laugh at him, and he's quiet and he watches you, and he comes over and wraps his arms around your waist and says, Cupcake, I get the feeling you're standing on a ledge, looking down and you feel your mask shattering as you stare out at the city lights through the window behind him, and you remember you never could keep it in place around him, and you realise the light you've just been staring at has cast a shadow of the two of you together.