‘Right. I’m leaving. For real this time.’
He walks to the door and opens it. The night is quiet, and the moon is the only thing in the sky. He turns back, one foot in the flat, one foot on the landing, as the breeze gently ruffles his hair.
‘Well?’ He demands.
‘Well what?’ She asks, feigning confusion. She pulls her kimono tight around her, and shifts her weight from one foot to the other.
‘Gis a kiss, then.’
He smiles, waits patiently. She goes to him williningly, kisses him sweetly on the mouth. When they part, she looks up at him with a smile. But she looks for longer than she should, or more deeply than she usually would, because he notices.
‘Why do you always do that?’
His tone is not accusing, more inquisitive. Sad.
She does not meet his gaze.
‘Look away just when you’re starting to fall for me.’
She is taken aback by his directness, tries to laugh it off.
‘As if.’ She mumbles, playfully nudging him. But she cannot commit. Her arm is limp. When she reaches, he easily catches her hand, holds it.
‘You know I’m right.’ He says quietly, ‘Don’t you?’
She slowly pulls her hand away.
‘Training.’ She repeats, braver.
‘For the day I look up at you and your eyes don’t love me back.’