She's pretty. Pretty in a weird sort of way, but pretty. It might be he ain't the type to trace the lines of her face with his fingertips; they're too rough for that. But since she was nice enough to turn toward him, he helps himself to a kiss.

His eyes are good, so he has to narrow 'em and half-shut 'em to blur things and he can't keep it up for long, but he reaches over and picks up her glasses from where they are on the floor, hands them over.

"Just in case you wanna see if you still like my hair by daylight."

He can be nice when he wants. Right now, he wants to. There ain't no rush to get up and get goin'. It's Sunday. He's off the friggin' clock, and that's a real good thing.