I liked to watch him: there was no other excuse for my indulgence. I would spend an hour or so after I awoke each morning, just moving quietly around my room in the pale dawn light, never further than a couple of feet from my bed. My washing was slow and perfunctory, and breakfast had to wait. I just liked to see him sleeping in my own bed, surrounded by large, thick pillows that cosseted him, embracing him in their soft shell. I liked the way he stirred in his secret dreams, his eyes flickering under his lids, and his delicate hand clasping at the coverlet. I liked to see his dark hair spread on the white linen, and his legs tangled among the crumpled sheets. I liked the smile on his face when he eventually woke to find me still there.
Mori had been with me for weeks now.
I didn’t think
