"I'm hurt that you don't have the same enthusiasm for standing out in the cold with me, wondering where we went wrong with our lives." But the corner of his mouth twitched, and he wasn't hurt at all. Complaining about hangovers and shit weather felt as close to normal as it would all get, even if they did it standing here, waiting for someone to fall into their dubious care.

Turning slightly, not quite enough to put the weight of attention on her, or leave the fountain unattended, he said, "Let's make a pact: when we find alcohol, we share. And try to drink water in between."

In the meantime, maybe the watched kettle would't boil. Maybe if they kept their eyes on the water, no one else would have to wake up in it.