She's labelled a geek. A self-appointment he shares with her. It's not the only thing.

Late night, early hours, it's hard to tell. They both should be sleeping, but boredom and loneliness drives them together. She sits on his bed next to the pizza box while he sits on the chair.

It's a safe, non-threatening distance.

She explains that this is her favourite part. He criticises the acting, and she nods, then reels off the name of five or six shows she's seen the actor in since.

It's only when she's talking of love that her sentences are whole. Not abbreviated by insecurity.

"You want another slice, fatty?"

"All yours, foreign boy."

She's not fat, though his passport is stamped differently. She leans back against the wall and folds her hands into the pocket of her sweatshirt. Squints at the screen and asks if he's seen a movie.

He hasn't. She promises to lend it to him. In return, he offers her a VCD of his, brought thousands of miles to sit on the shelf next to the History of Modern Russia and the Star Trek novel he borrowed from her the week before. There is agreement, then silence as the film continues.

He realises it is that which makes this special. Not just a shared interest, but a love, and wanting to share ones love for a world with someone they hope will feel the same. And despite the sarcasm and cutting jibes, he does love it.

Being a geek, he decides, is a label he's happy to carry.