Her thumb traced over his cheekbone in a long, even stroke. She was feeling for what rested beneath.

Her palm then replaced it, fully resting against his cheek. He was warm, almost dangerously so. Reinette's mind was flooded with memories of cool skin pressed against her own.

They were not the same.

"The man from my fireplace," she explained, risking the truth to the air. He would leave soon, after all, and it would not matter. "The Doctor."