You find her on the fire escape at midnight.

She's already got a cigarette going, leaning on the railing looking at the street below, and she glances over when you push the window open and climbs through.

"Couldn't sleep?" you say.

"Thinking," she says.

"About what."

"Things," she says.

"Very specific," you say.

She hands you the cigarette.

---

It's cold in the specific way November is cold, the kind that makes the city look cleaner than it is, all orange-lit and quiet. You lean on the railing beside her, shoulders touching, passing it back and forth without making a thing of it.

"What things," you say eventually.

She thinks about it properly the way she always does.

"Good things," she says. A little surprised. Like she'd gone looking for something to worry about and come back empty.

You look at her sideways. "Yeah?"

"Mostly you," she says. Very casual. Not looking at you.

You feel that everywhere.

"Lottie," you say.

"Mm."

"You can't just say things like that."

"Why not," she says. Still looking at the street.

You have no answer for that. You take the cigarette back.

---

The smoke curls up into the orange dark above you. Below, a cab goes past. Someone's window has music in it, too far away to make out the song, just warmth and rhythm and the suggestion of it.

"This is nice," you say.

"Yes," she says.

"We should do this more."

"Stand on the fire escape in November," she says.

"With you," you say. "Yes."

She finally looks at you. That expression. The warm open one she doesn't give out to everyone.

She takes the cigarette back, takes a long drag, exhales slowly into the cold air.

"Obviously," she says.

You bump her shoulder.

She bumps back.

The city glitters below you and neither of you go back inside for a long time.!