I’d been watching him for awhile, the one with the long slender arms and neck that looked like they belonged to a statue, like when he raised them he would turn into a dancer, or a crane, and lift off the ground and disappear. Of course he never did.

There was a pane of glass missing from one of the windows. I happened to look in on them once out of curiosity and after that I kept coming back. Something about him -- sometimes it was the way he moved, sometimes it was in his face -- I never knew what it was but I wanted it by me, I wanted to get it right so I’d remember.

Once after the shift was over I stayed until they’d nearly all come out and I caught him by the arm. He had to look up to look at me. A few of them came past and glanced at me but they kept on walking. There was some question in his eyes and I forgot what I had first thought to say. Instead I said, “Come with me,” rather louder than I meant to. He was surprised, but then he must have remembered how I’d taken to lingering by the door when they had it open to let out some of the heat, and how he had seen me a few of those times and we had smiled at each other. And the surprise faded from his face.

He started to speak but changed his mind, shaking his head. “I can’t. I have to go home.” But he smiled. “Tomorrow.”

“I can’t take you home with me, though. They won’t let you in.”

“It’s all right.” He was younger than I was but I could tell when he said it that he’d done this sort of thing before. “I know a place.”

The place he had mentioned was an old warehouse, dirty, spare, with piles of boxes against the walls. There was a blanket laid out as if put there on purpose for us.

“No one will come?” I asked.

“No,” he said, “the watchman comes at four in the morning.”

We’ll be gone by then, I thought, but I didn’t say it.

And it was so easy, with him.

He fell asleep quickly and I lay there looking over him, all the things I might have missed, staring while I could. His head lay upon my shoulder and I held him tight to me not because I loved him but because I didn’t know when I’d ever have someone like this again. And I followed the spiral on the top of his head with my finger, combing his black hair flat against my palm.

I fell asleep without meaning to, and when I woke he was still asleep but we’d skidded away from each other. He was turned away from me, his arms spread out on either side like maybe he was flying in his dream, or trying to disappear. Something happened within his mind; he moved restlessly and he pulled his limbs close to protect himself from something I couldn’t see. I was wondering whether or not I should get up when he woke. His eyes were dim, almost with a drugged glaze, and he was frightened. He stretched his arms out to me and moaned something and I gathered him in, I stroked his hair and whispered things such as "I’m here," things that didn’t mean anything. I knew he didn’t know who I was but I held him anyway, until I felt him draw away and he looked at me clearly.

“I’d better go,” he said.

He stood up and got dressed, looking at me now and then almost as if he were embarrassed. I didn’t move. When he was finished he ran a hand through his perfect hair, half smiled, and went to go.

“Wait,” I said, turning over so I could see him. If I wanted anything specific when I said it I lost it the moment I’d spoken. But there he was waiting for me.

“What’s your name?”

“Yan,” he said.

And I knew then that I’d ruined it forever, that I’d never have him again and that I’d have to stop coming by that factory. I’m not sure what it was that told me, but once he had a name, I knew that this was it and that whatever I’d found was gone.