She hums at his touch, a decidedly pleased sound in the back of her throat.

The scars are ethereal beneath his probing fingertips, just a bit more papery than the surrounding unmarred skin. But he can feel the thin line where flesh and bone were separated and reknit. An old injury. So old, she's even forgotten it's there.

She turns, setting the tray down, and slipping her arms around his neck, stealing another kiss, languid as the morning mist.