Why should she care

 The night drew longer and there was no sign of him. The longer she waited, the more bitter she felt, but she would never admit it. Why should she care? He was following the plot. Why was she bothered by these things when she had better things to do? 

 Before she knew it, she was long asleep, curled under the sheets. Very late that night, a few minutes to midnight, the doors closely opened, and a tall figure stepped in. His gold eyes darted around the room, settling on the petty figure lying on the bed. 

 "I guess as much," he muttered, then walked towards a small table that had a bottle of wine in it to pour himself a glass. His long hair was packed up, and he was dressed rather casually in a plain white shirt and a pair of trousers. 

 He gulped down the entire content of the glass in one go. He was drained; a long sigh left his lips before he stood up again and walked to the bed. She was deep asleep she didn't know what was happening.