He sits languidly in the lawn chair, one arm slung behind his head, the other propped on his lap holding a styrofoam cup half-filled with coffee. His intense gaze fixed on the empty air in front of him, he absentmindedly rotates the cup of coffee in his hand.
She watches him, taking in every minute detail. How his forearm muscles flex as he turns the cup slowly between his fingers. How perfectly his dark blue jeans fit his legs. How his chest rises rhythmically with each inhalation and exhalation of his breath. How his eyelashes hover as he lets his eyelids close slightly. She closes her own eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heartbeat.
He doesn't see her. He can't see her. She is invisible. Her invisibility is a part of who she is. Normally she likes the comfort of anonymity this gives her, but not with him. She wants to show herself. But she doesn't belong in his world. Forcing herself there would only bring them both pain. Again.
He shifts slightly, breaking her reverie. She realizes her mistake immediately. It takes concentration to stay invisible and she has let her concentration go completely, wrapped up so entirely in looking at him, listening to him. She should go invisible and run. Get away.
But it is too late. He sees her. He's coming toward her.
"Bijou," he whispers, his eyes searching hers. Her name on his lips sends shivers through her. "Not here to do another one of your disappearing acts, are you?"
How does she explain that she shouldn't be there? That she needs to go? That she hadn't meant to stay watching him for so long?
Before these dreadful thoughts can fully form, his lips are on hers for the first time. The kiss is passionate and reassuring. In that moment she realizes that nothing else matters. Just the two of them. She is his and she will do anything and endure anything to keep it that way.