That smile. That one right there: I love it. I love it. And he does what he wanted to do earlier: he takes her apple-free hand in his and kisses each of her fingertips in turn. He doesn't ask her which one she got in front of the camera's lens when she was little; he doesn't need to. He just wants to be close to her.

Intimate with her, intimate in a public way.

Intimate in a way they only are with each other. It's private, but it's not. He doesn't care who knows what they have, so long as they know.

"What do you want to see on Earth from my time when we go? Anything special?"

He knows it will happen. He just knows.