Really, I should draw pictures. But I won't.
She was leaning against his shoulder. Her eyes were closed. His arm was around her.
His arm reached over her shoulder, his hand touching her face. Prodding it. Playing with it, as though her skin were made of soft clay. He pinched her cheeks. He pulled at her lower lip, then her upper lip. He stuck his fingers in her mouth. For a moment, I thought he was going to knead her face into a new one.
Not once did he turn to face her. He just stared straight ahead, rearranging her features with his public-transit-infected fingertips, while she quietly stirred against him.
This continued for the entire duration of my ride. I'm assuming he's still tugging at her flesh somewhere.
Moral of the story: sometimes love is gross.