She kissed him on the lips.
In grey tones of early mornings, in those spaces where there was distance, He would look at her, and find her less attractive. She was still everything he wanted. When her sulk bled in her mouth, when her voice cracked in his breath, when his eyes danced in her hips, he found happiness. He still wanted more.
She would call when he would lay besides another, and ask if everything was okay. Why wouldn't everything be okay?, he thought. He gave her assurances, gave her love, gave her a sense of stillness. She took them in her embrace, and named her secrets after stars.
He watched while she wrote. She watched while he played. With ritual uncertainty, they tangled in corners where neither belonged. When she pulled away, he would escape into the shadows, leaving her with his scent, and the promise of something more yet.