When lovely woman stoops to folly and
Paces about her room again, alone,
She smoothes her hair with automatic hand,
And puts a record on the gramophone.
===
He's long and lean, there in the darkness broken only by moonlight, and Minako watches his face as he takes in the sight of her, laying across the duvet, her lips in a little smile. He's dark, not as pale as she, and in the corner, the tape in the deck turns itself over again. Soft strains of music she's sure he's used before and will again.
"Do you really have to go?" he asks. His accent is thick and his fingers long as he strokes them idly through her long hair.
She nods.
"Not even for a li'l longer, love? Not another go, just - "
She shakes her head. The action is reflected in his expression, disappointment running across his fine features.
"Please?"
"I will be...Be..." It takes Minako a long moment to remember the word, and she purses her lips in thought. "Missed."
He nods, but his fingers don't move. Not for a very long moment. He pulls out three tangles with them and then his knuckles brush across her high cheekbones before he lets her go. "Comin' by again tomorrow?"
"I have school."
"Not even for a bit? Tea and a chat, maybe a spot of telly..."
She slides off the bed, taking in the sight of him one more time. He's muscular without being built and lean without being gaunt, and, perhaps more importantly, his dark eyes hide a cleverness and his thin lips an easy smile. How easy it would be to fall in love, or some semblance of it, and how silly at the same time.
Her clothes are piled near the end of the bed, mixed with his. She tosses him his shorts and grins softly.
"But I will see you again," he murmurs, his shorts landing in the warm place she had been.
Minako watches him watching her and her grin softens into smile that is nearly wistful and, she loathes to admit it, very nearly hopeful. "Yes," she says, and pulls her dress back over her head.
He smiles back, which allows her ample time to pad over to the door and open it. She glances over her shoulder, brushing her hair away so she can steal one last look at him.
"Maybe next time," he murmurs, "we'll have a real conversation."
"And maybe next time," she replies, slipping out the door, "you'll tell me your name."
