For a long while, she stared at him, remembering him as he was when they had first met – handsome, devilish, worshipful, playful. She tried to forget what he had become – angry, bitter, distant. She stroked the side of his head, running her fingers through his ebony hair. She wished she could remove the bandages from his eyes so she could recall with exactitude just how blue they really were. Gently, she perched herself on the side of the bed. She took his left hand in hers, suddenly realising that no one face in her hands, bringing his lips to hers, sighing the instant they met. She had anticipated a certain indecision and hesitancy. He returned her kiss, but it felt more like a polite gesture, a guest's compliance with his hostess's wishes. Quickly, she made her own kisses more ardent, accompanied by delicate swipes of her hands across his chest.