“It's nice when someone remembers the small details about you. Not because you keep reminding them, but because they care.”

— Anonymous

He was good at crosswords.

She watched, almost transfixed, as the pen darted swiftly from left to right, up, down, diagonally, and finally stilled.

“You like crosswords?”

He shrugged nonchalantly, meeting her curious eyes as he set the pen down. “I’ve been told by my teachers I’m good.”

She mulled this over. “How good?”

He grinned sheepishly. “Better than them.”

“Care to make things interesting?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, not doubt enticed yet wary. “Go on…”

“I say I can finish my crossword before you.”

“And if you don’t?”

“I’ll pay for every single coffee you buy for the rest of the year.”

He nodded reluctantly, accepting. “And if you win?”

She paused to think, her gaze travelling over each object in his flat, considering. “I want… one of your Batman comics. Your pick.”

He did not respond long enough that, had she been anybody else, she might have taken his lack of reply as an unspoken no. But he had that look he got whenever a challenge presented itself, and she knew that he would not refuse.

“All right.” He extended his hand, and she took it tightly, surprised as she always was by how strong and firm his grip was. “Deal.”

In the end, she won by five minutes. When Luke glanced up, seeing her waiting and realising he’d lost, he did not jump up and down and insist that she must have cheated like she remembered her older brother and his friends had once done after a game of scrabble. He simply looked resigned, like he had, on some level, known it would happen.

With a nod of acceptance (she had to really admire how well he took defeat), he led her to the glass case where his comics were and flicked through them, searching.

Audrey watched how he paused at some, wondering whether or not to give them up, while others he went by without even having to think about. And suddenly she was reminded of the time he’d told her how long it had taken for him to track some of these down, or how much work for his parents he did just to earn one, and she had moved to the cabinet without conscious thought, already closing the glass before her brain could catch up.

Luke pulled his hand out to allow her to fully close it, tore his gaze away from the comics to meet hers, his brows furrowed in a question.

“I actually don’t like Batman,” she lied, because she could not take away something he had worked so hard to earn over a silly crossword.

His eyes lit up with something akin to hope. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Looks like you’ll be paying for coffee instead,” she told him lightly, already walking back to the couch.

“You’re really sure?”

Usually, she would have made fun of him for sounding so unsure. It was a hard thing to do, to catch him off guard. As it was, she merely flopped herself onto the lounge and flipped through the channels.

He moved to sit beside her, and when she sat the remote down between them, his hand caught hers, giving it a light squeeze. The prodigious moment lasted for two, maybe three seconds at best. He did not bother to elaborate and she did not ask. Except, as his hand shifted out of range from hers again, he gave her a look. Firm and solid, communicating something between them that was too superfluous for words. And she smiled at the silent thank you, smiled that he had remembered such a silly and unimportant part of herself – that she did indeed, like Batman.