As morning sunlight dances onto the bed, a pile of sheets rustles, revealing a slim, pale figure with dark, toussled locks of hair around her messy face.  A man, shaving in the adjoining bathroom, turns to gaze at her.

"Asriel?" she murmurs softly.

"In here, Marisa," he gently calls, his tiny growth of beard falling away before his razor.

She moans, and blinks sleepily.

"What time is it?"

He puts down his razor and walks over to the bed, giving her a light kiss on the cheek, before glancing at his pocket watch.

"Seven i't morn'" he answers casually.

"Oh, God, I should have been home now!  Eddie…"

"Will never know.  He's an idiot, Marisa, be rational.  Get up and wash your face, and I'll ask my neighbor, a respectable lady, to give you a ride home."

She sits up, quite stiffly, as if his words did not reassure her much.

"For God's sake, Marisa," he says, "get dressed!"

She gazes at her lover sadly, but his expression reproaches her, and she does as told.