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Watching
Bernard is long since past his prime, but sexuality still clings to him, like ivy on some glorious ruin, covering him with the green of a youth to which he can no longer lay the smallest claim. If he notices there's something off in Goren's eyes as they follow his every movement in the interrogation room, he's far too well-mannered to indicate it. He simply sits, manicured hands clasped in front of him, a jaunty cast to his chin, the ghost of a smile playing about his lips. And Goren watches, wondering, if he kissed those lips, would he taste Nicole?
The End