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quizzical look.
    "You must be a night demon," I teased. "You walk the night, putting terrible theorems into people's dreams."
    "The horror," Eliot said, clasping one hand to his heart. "To place untrue theorems in the minds of poor mathematicians."
    "Worse than that," I said. "The theorems are true, but completely unprovable."
    Eliot's eyes crinkled in laughter.
    "What's this?" I said, picking up the book from the end table.
    "Oh, that," Eliot said. "The Little Prince. Have you ever read it?"
    "No," I said. "I think I've heard of it, though."
    "Everybody here reads this book when they are a child," Eliot said. He picked up the old book and turned it over in his hands, then handed it to me. The cover showed a boy standing on an asteroid or moon, a beautiful colored illustration.
    "What's it about?" I asked.
    "It's about a prince—"
    "Like you," I said. "Is there a princess?"
    "No. This prince is just a little boy, and he lives on a tiny planet that you can walk around in no time at all. It's as big as a house, maybe, no bigger."
    "That's how it is on the cover," I said. I looked again at the illustration. "The gravity wouldn't be enough to keep him on there."
    "Hush. It's a fairy tale."
    "Oh. Well, if it's a fairy tale," I said, smiling. I tucked my feet under the blanket and lay back against the pillows. "So he's the only one on the planet?"
    "He has a rose," Eliot said. "He loves her and waters her and keeps her under a glass globe at night to protect her."
    "What happens to him? The little prince?" I asked.
    "He leaves one day," Eliot said.
    "He leaves the rose?"
    "Yes. She tells him that she doesn't need the glass globe anymore and he leaves her. He leaves his home altogether, and visits a bunch of other planets, and eventually he comes to Earth. You'll have to read it, of course. I'm not doing it justice."
    "It sounds like a nice book. Does he stay on Earth or go back to his rose?"
    Eliot got a sad look in his eye, and he took the book out of my hands.
    "I can't tell you," he said. "That would spoil the ending."
    "Are you coming to bed?" I asked. I couldn't keep the note of pleading out of my voice, and I hated myself for being so needy.
    "Yes," Eliot said. "Of course."
    I watched him as he peeled off his shirt. The white scars crisscrossing his chest seemed to glow in the dim light. He saw me watching him and turned the light off. I heard him finish undressing while my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. By the time he came into bed I could make out his profile, nothing else. His dark hair tumbled over his face.
    "You need a haircut," I said timidly. I was scared to touch him, now that he was nearly naked and so close to me. Foolish—we had slept together, after all, but only the one time. Since then he had given me space. More space than I needed, really. As much as I felt myself drawn toward him, the more I felt myself pull back. I could not trust anyone, not even him, or something bad would happen. A black cloud seemed to be hovering just above me, ready to strike me down at any sign of happiness.
    "I'll get it cut tomorrow," Eliot said. He paused for a second, then shifted in bed.
    "Goodnight," I said. I turned away to face the window. The moon outside was thin, waning. This bed felt different than my bed in the other room.
    "Goodnight, princess," Eliot said. One of his arms curled around me and pulled me backwards into his embrace. He spooned me, kissed my shoulder, and lay his head down close to mine on the pillow. His breath was warm and tickled my back. His chest rose and fell, pressing against my back. The skin was seamed with scars. I nestled into him and kissed the arm closest to me. His hand reached out and stroked my hair back behind my ear.
     

I loved it when Eliot told me stories, when he shared books with me that he loved. Although it made me feel like a little girl, I longed to have him cradle me in his arms and tell me all of the stories of his childhood.
    One time I was reading a newspaper and