The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the air system and the distant night sounds of the Gold Wing.
Syril lay on his back, one arm under Amy's shoulders. Her head rested on his chest, blonde hair spread across his skin, one leg thrown over his. The clean sheets were cool against their still-warm bodies. The smell of soap from the shower mixed faintly with the lingering scent of sex that the water hadn't completely washed away.
For a long time, neither of them spoke.
Amy's fingers traced slow, absent patterns on his chest. Syril stared at the ceiling, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breathing. The weight of everything they had done tonight sat between them, but something heavier waited underneath.
Finally, Amy shifted.
She lifted her head just enough to look at him. Her jade eyes were clearer now, though still soft around the edges. There was something uncertain in them, something that made her hesitate.
