22 mornings later, she wakes up in his bed.

(They are not touching, but they don't have to. Just the presence, the warmth of each other is enough. Everything—the horror, grief, beauty of the days since that first sunrise seems to disappear. She looks into those bright brown eyes and realizes that while her home is destroyed, her life doesn't have to be.)

25 mornings later, she wakes up before him.

(She spends a few minutes examining the way the sunlight is wrapping itself around him, filtering through his hair, illuminating his skin. It thus takes her a moment to register his arm, which, as she follows it down from his shoulder, she realizes is draped across her waist. She doesn't mind.)

29 mornings later, it is still dark when they wake, and he is screaming.

(She shakes him, pulling him out of his nightmare with her small hands and her gauzy voice. He is drenched in sweat and she is shaking, but the panic in his eyes begins to fade as he looks into hers. Her grip on his arms begins to loosen but he rejects this, pulling her towards him and burying his face in her shoulder. They stay like this until the light comes and their hearts have slowed to a steady, united rhythm.)

30 mornings later, they are still asleep, completely intertwined.

(He slowly blinks awake, relishing the feel of her skin on his, allowing the memories of the night to creep hazily back into his mind. At some point they would have to get up and face the world they were trying to rebuild, but for now he is content in the smaller one they have built from scratch.)

53 mornings later, they wake up in a different city.

(She meets his parents that day, and she is angelic. She talks to them in her usual riddles and his mother looks at her with something that is close to clarity, and his heart is nearly bursting. When they both turns to smile at him, he knows.)

54 mornings later, he tells her he loves her.

(She reaches out and touches his lips, stunned at the words they just formed. She doesn't say anything, but he understands.)

89 mornings later, she wakes him up with a kiss.

(They don't say it, but they both know that he is surprised he has made it another year. They think about the disaster of the past year, and for the first time in a long time, they think about the possibilities the future could hold.)

93 mornings later, she asks to see his parents again.

(This is her answer, and he loves her all the more for it.)

121 mornings later, she is sitting by the window when he wakes.

(Neither of them knows how to put what they need to say into words, so they sit together, looking out at the lightening sky, wishing the next morning didn't have to happen. He wants her to say something, anything, to whisper her beautiful nonsense into the air between them, but she stays silent. He has never seen her cry, so his tears fall for both of them.)

122 mornings later, she gets on a train.

(They have grown stronger together, and now it is time for them to shine on their own.)