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<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'"><b>Paris, 1962</b><br/>
<br/>
She frowned when he shot her next guess down as well. She had felt half convinced of it. Even if she had no clues to substantiate it, besides a single letter etched on a lighter, it felt like it should have been right- but then again so did David. She sighed. “Oh, a Prize?” The corners of her lips twitched into a smirk. Games were usually better with stakes she would agree. “Hm I don’t know, what would you like?” She posed the question back just to see what he’d pick. <br/>
<br/>
Her mind was working again as they neared the area where she lived and his steps stalled to a stop. She stopped with him and turned so they were face to face again as he requested her answer. She paused caught by his eyes, the resemblance was uncanny but the difference was there she noted in the way he looked at her. The eyes of the ghost were usually edged and demanding, while his asked things of her with a different sort of intensity. It almost felt like too much. She was shifting her own eyes away nervously. They moved to the side, focusing on a streetlight like she was only thinking and not hiding. <br/>
<br/>
“Dexter,” She said already knowing it was wrong before it came out of her mouth. Maybe she wanted to lose- or maybe it just didn’t matter in the end what his name was. This couldn’t and wouldn’t last. Just then the sky rumbled and she looked up as the first new wave of drops started to fall. One or two landed on her cheeks like teardrops. She gasped at the cold on her skin and in a hurry reached for his hand and pulled him in a sprint half a block further down the street until they found shelter in an alcove of an entryway to her apartment building.  Catching her breath again, she stopped short of the door and turned so her back was against it for the time being. Her hand still wrapped around his, like she’d forgotten letting go was an option.  <br/>
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This was the part where she was supposed to go through the motions of inviting him up she remembered but it felt like they were beyond that already and she was feeling bold and impatient. Wordlessly instead, she rose on her toes until her lips could touch his. It was a brief kiss, briefer than even she was intending it. She expected the usual rush of an unfamiliar spark found only on strange lips. His lips were anything but strange and she was flooded with a familiar warmth foreign to her until then. It was too much and all at once she wanted to fall into it but she jerked away out of fear she’d mask for coyness.  Her cheeks were going red and her hair had gone frizzy “Will that do as a prize?” </span></div>