*****
Footsteps approached precisely as a sunbeam crept through her window. Chrys cracked the door. He was blindfolded. “In here, Malliá,” she urged. She took his hand and led him to her shower. “I’ll turn my back so you can watch.”
He slipped the blindfold off—and caught his breath. Chrys’s beauty was no filter; she was even more exquisite than holovid had shown.
Reluctantly, he retied the blindfold. Chrys turned on the shower. “They’d wonder why I’m not showering and come check,” she explained. Warm water cascaded over them. Their lips met; hands caressed; bodies pressed together. They’d been starving for touch, for each other. The urgency of the moments crescendoed and waned, again and again.
The alarm sounded; Chrys jumped. Malliá twisted and they tumbled to the floor in a tangled heap. The floor was too slippery and they couldn’t get up, didn’t want to get up.
The alarm rang again. Chrys gasped. “Nooo…”
“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to lose track of time—and golden you. I can’t live without you.” She tore off Malliá’s mask and gazed into his beautiful, burning, golden eyes.
At the tingle of her touch, his gaze exploded.
They were still there.
“Meow,” Riddle sidled against them. His lithe form curled and caressed them.
“Riddle! You’re alive again! We are alive—and free.”