Summer dress. High heels. Summer dress and no shoes at all. Summer dress slid off the hips and onto the floor, replaced by shorts. Then different shorts. Then those were on the floor and she danced into a skirt and flats.

"So over outfits," she announced, gaily, as Hal halfheartedly watched her dress and undress, throw clothes and trip over herself. "Now that I can, I want to change all the time. I want to change every hour."

He smiled, said nothing, thumbed through the pages of his book. "You're going to miss the sun if you don't settle on something soon."

"Trust me, I know."

He slipped into the words for a moment as she synced with him and fell quiet, trying on several different tops. Next were her rings, which she switched several times – the one with the moon on her pointer or her ring finger? What about the plain silver one? What about the snake? Hal shifted his weight from foot to foot in the doorway and she took the hint. Slim rings slipped down slim digits and she fussed no more. She seemed ready to launch herself out of the room, until she froze and looked at him imploringly.

"What if I just do pants? I don't want this skirt right now. I feel like I should make the most of it, though. Are pants too boring?"

"Pants are fine," Hal stated, eyebrows raising before his eyes did, reluctant to leave the page. "Pants are incredibly normal. Boring."

Time froze under the weight of this implication and her body seemed to bow under the mass. She could be normal. He could be normal. He, she, we, them, us, they could be normal, they could be boring. They could take that liberty. Any day, all day, no day at all, whenever they wanted.

Alex wore jeans out on their walk that day and fussed no more.

• • •

Recovery was their next task. Their lives had been so focused on adapting – now it was all healing, rest, and relaxation. Things had changed in a millisecond, flipping their lives around, but their bodies were still catching up. Tom still kept the backpack he used to take out to the woods every month. Hal cleaned the house daily and kept his domino in his pocket, flipping it expertly between his fingers in times of stress. Alex was still surprised when she had to walk from room to room.

Certain things took on more weight. Hal lingered in front of mirrors, took extra time shaving, and would occasionally stand in the bathroom, stark naked after a shower, towel beside him on the floor, just staring at himself. Alex let him. This was part of the process.

Alex was cheekier now, having gotten away with rent-a-ghosting from room to room and pranking Rook. She would occasionally push people or knock things over, but being totally visible, had no way to explain it but crouching down and laughing for minutes on end when caught. Hal let her. This was part of the process.

When feeling particularly intimate, Hal still went for her throat first. The neck and jawline took on a semi-holy significance and Hal caressed her throat, trailing fingers over her jugular and jawline, taking too long with his lips against her windpipe – no force, just lingering, breathing, loving. There was no urge anymore, and he always tried to push himself, only to find no beast pushing back. He never bit. He would just nuzzle. Alex let him. This was part of the process.

Some days were weird, kaleidoscopic, rough. The nightmare of their curses lingered in the house when they thought about it too much. Memories made it difficult to go outside, and sometimes the trio sat on the couch, saying nothing, staring at a show they mutually hated, not listening. They understood. This was part of the process.

Hal was there the first time Alex dropped to her knees and buried her face in her arms, crouched in the attic, and burst into rib-wracking sobs. He slipped an arm around her trembling back, not bothering her with a 'why' or a 'what's wrong'. He had seen the progression of corrosive memory in her face before her body registered the grief of dying and she dropped. Hal let her. This was part of the process.

• • •