James Black watched her eyes with a burning gaze.
One second, two seconds, three seconds.
He couldn't bear to look away for a long time.
Only when Jane's small hand playfully poked his face, did he silently curve the corners of his mouth into a smile and then leaned down to kiss her once more.
At some point, she had stopped despising his kisses, no longer dodging them, and even took joy in such intimacy as well as in his kisses.
Despite attempts to hide it, this joy was unmistakable in her eyes—emotions he could always discern there.
It was different.
Dreams and reality were ultimately different.
In dreams, her eyes held guilt and pain for his death, but lacked any emotion that could be described as love.
But outside of dreams, her eyes were filled with attachment and fondness for him.
