8
Getting to sleep was difficult that night. Brian hadn’t seen Her dance and when he’d eventually settled in bed, he’d been unable to think about anything but Her. Though, of course, she wasn’t called Her. Her name was Yuki. Yet to Brian she would always be Her. It was more sublime, more ethereal, more fitting.
It was more Her.
Brian got up with the sun. He’d just been lying there, dreaming about the coffee date, playing out different ways it could go—things he’d mess up, phrases that’d spill out wrong, apologies he’d have to make as way of clarification:
“I can’t believe this is actually happening, in many ways I’ve been dreaming about this since I first saw you … I mean figuratively, I’m not actually dreaming about you, I’m not obsessed or anything … That came out wrong. I’m saying y
