His shoulders raise a little, defensively. He keeps his back to her, eyes on his work as he goes on adding wood, the smoke coiling round his wrists as delicate bracelets. Gaps are left for the air to flow in and out, like a thing that breathes.

"I don't want to have it out." That might not be enough, so he adds, after a beat, "We're here. I'm happy we're here, both of us, and that we'll be here for a while. Let it be."