We went out to the movies, me and Kaine and some of his friends. I really liked Kaine's mate, Bryan, a fellow writer. He was smart and cute and a little shy, with a kind of inner strength. He seemed very centred, an old soul, as they say. Beautiful eyes, nice lips. While Kaine was boisterously in conversation with the other guys, Bryan and I chatted fiction and flirted quietly with each other. I felt a little disappointed when he was the first to head home. Our gazes lingered, as he said his good-byes. I wanted to go with him. I couldn't help but watch him walk away up Swanston Street. He stole a look back at me, just at the last minute. It was nice.

Then I felt Kaine’s hand take mine and squeeze it, as he gently tugged on my arm. As I returned my attention to him, he was giving me a semi-quizzical look, tilted head, raised eye brows, just momentarily.

I guess he noticed.

I suppose that's a bad thing, hey? Men! Hands in the air. Eye roll. Head shake. Who needs them?

(That's self deprecation and not a comment on Kaine, you understand. Was that clear? I'm not sure.)