The beginning of the memory was accompanied by the briefest sound of a melody floating from an unknown somewhere.
Expensive bedding covered a queen sized bed in dark masculine colors. Forest greens and rusty browns. The perfect backdrop for the red hair that draped over a crumpled pillow. Youthfully slender, but with the all the appealing soft curves a woman needed to be deadly, she slept. Fully clothed, only her shoes missing--she lay on top of the covers, untouched. A depression on the bed next to her was the only sign that another person was present. But he was there, watching her sleep on the bed where they had spent hours talking and touching.
The memory was his and it shifted as he began to move around the room, restlessly stripping off his shirt, emptying his pockets, and finally settling back into his place beside her before reaching over and turning off the light on the cluttered nightstand.
A totally unremarkable series of events, except for the fact that there was something almost shy about the way he wrapped his arms around her, face pressed into her soft hair, careful not to wake her as he pulled her close. There was something pained in the way he stared into the darkness, seeing nothing--listening to the sound of her breathing and hearing the melody that floated up at the end of the memory, just as it had at the beginning.