He smiled in the darkness as he squinted through the frozen windshield.
He smiled as their coats brushed while he held the door open for him.
He smiled while the waitress desperately dabbed at his dinner date's pants, apologizing while the molting towel left a trail of fur all over Adam's black, wool slacks.
He smiled when Adam couldn't open the bathroom door from the inside, the heavy, simple key having been knocked out and batted under the ornate bathtub by his cat. The cat, having lost its rusty companion, skipped out the window and down the greenhouse roof.
He smiled when he Adam rang his parents doorbell, before they knew he was dating their son, and he smiled when Adam's dad gruffly patted him on the shoulder and said, "Make a straight man out of him, would ya?" Adam's dad frowned, and sat back down in his mahogany and velvet chair. "I meant." Adam's dad said.
"I'll see what I can do." He said.
He smiled in the dark, the first, then every, time Adam fell asleep, head on his thigh while watching their favorite show. He didn't mind watching episodes twice, not with Adam.
He smiled in the shower, gently pulling the soap off Adam's body.
He smiled in the kitchen, fixing them sandwiches to eat in bed on rainy autumn evenings.
He smiled as he keyed open their bakery.
He smiled as he said, "I'll see you later then." Like he meant it.