Steve smiled as she steered him inside her apartment, looking around with open interest as she moved around the small space. He'd lived in places like this his whole life, so it didn't feel that small to him; it did make him notice how much bigger he was from back then, though.

The window and the yellow accents made it feel more open and happy; it suited her perfectly, he thought. He noted the framed photos, and remembered her mentioning visiting her husband's family in New Orleans. Some men, he thought, might be jealous that she still had that sort of thing up. He'd never make her get rid of them, though, or even want her to, unless she wanted to. They were a part of her past, that had helped shape her, and that was reason enough to like them.

"I like the yellow," he told her, coming to stand just outside the kitchen, so as not to get in her way, but still be able to watch her. He could watch her move for hours and never grow tired of it. Especially in her own space, where she was confident and at ease, sure of where everything was, and just how much reach she needed to get something. "And the prints. They're beautiful."