Author's Notes: Written for tomriddle100 and the prompt "Unforgivable".
Anchored
"It's you, isn't it."
To make him more real, more human, she imagines the mattress dips and the sheets rustle.
"Always."
She looks at him, and suddenly envisions variations of herself -- from teenager, to adult, to middle-aged woman, until the red in her hair wears off -- sitting in this bed, with him perched nearby, eternally sixteen.
She feels exhausted, wonders whether she could lean on his shoulder, whether she could ever make him that real...
"Why?" she breathes.
"Because you lived."
"How long?" and she is almost crying now.
"As long as it takes."
He touches her still-red hair meaningfully.
