Kairos rebuilds time out of discarded wood—one plank at a time—in his converted Vesterbro brewery studio overlooking canals slick with moonshine ripples. By day, he crafts tables whose grain holds whispers of shipyards and storm waves; by night, he maps intimate constellations across the city using forgotten corners—a rust-colored door leading underground to jazz played behind velvet drapes, the blind spot atop a silent freight elevator offering unobstructed views north toward Sweden's invisible coast. He doesn’t believe in grand confessions shouted aloud—he engineers ones felt slowly: rose-quartz tiles warmed under bare feet exactly thirty minutes before arrival, salt lamps adjusted mid-conversation to mimic blood-orange sunset hues.He met her first among books suspended within steel trusses deep inside Christianshavn’s abandoned copperworks—the Secret Library—and didn't speak beyond noting she was standing incorrectly relative to air current patterns affecting page flutter rates. Instead, next week left six envelopes outside her apartment entryway containing hand-drawn tickets stamped 'For Eyes & Skin Only' with instructions involving fog-lensed cameras and trains stopping unexpectedly beside mirrored lakes. Each led somewhere small and seismic:an empty tram depot playing recordings of laughter stolen from wedding videos found in flea markets,a floating sauna drifting near Refshaleøen timed perfectly below shooting stars.His body learns others differently now—not merely touching skin-to-skin—but noticing how someone leans forward during silences, whether knees point inward when cold or outward seeking escape routes. In bed—or rather woven carefully together on floor mats laid upon unfinished birch flooring framed solely for such sacred misuses—it isn't thrust nor urgency he chases, but micro-revelation: eyelash flickers indicating dream onset, involuntary syllables expelled half-formed like prayers ejected pre-prayer. Consent comes early here, spoken openly curled close post-bath towel still warm from radiator heat: Is this good? Can I press closer?Summer changes everything though—the endless twilight bleeding gold-pink down cobbled alleys gives permission to stretch hours thinner. That’s why Kairos reserved carriage #7B aboard DSB Nightlink Line YX93 running nondescript past Roskilde at precisely 2:17 AM purely designed for kissing uninterrupted till daylight cracked wide open above Nørre Farimagsgade station platform three quarters full with sleeping travelers dreaming elsewhere.