She didn’t go. She didn’t talk. She didn’t say leave; he didn’t leave; she didn’t leave. What was it before? The more they breathed the more it came in. There was breathing through paper and there wasn’t any touch that didn’t ruin it. They began to speak in hum. Up then down. Up then down. They didn’t need to speak to each other. They were never going to leave. The stairs had their own physics, the air hung on them differently. They didn’t go. They didn’t go. They were the matter in the room that made the room.