They had been engaged in a short but consistent conversation, not in the living room but the bedroom.
Santino had not finished unpacking the rest of his belongings and there was still a pile of clothes on one of the chairs in the bare dining room and the rest on the sofa; the room looked like a gale had passed. They would organize themselves, there would be time for more things. There was no television and she had given up on the idea of taking the modular over her bureau, but she would have been too bulky, after packing even the smallest garment. The sound of her voices still recriminated little echo.
He smelled a faint cherry scent as she hugged him from behind. He turned to look at him. The soft light from the table lamp reflected in her jade eyes and her pink hair fell over her shoul
