vi.

I used to live alone before I knew you


She stays up late, a shadow draped against the delicate paper of the privacy screen. Some nights he falls asleep to the quiet sighs of her brush against the paper. Some nights he stays up and watches the way the candle's light flickers across the ceiling. Some nights she does not go to her bed until very late. Some nights she does not go to her bed at all.

But no matter what the nights hold for them, he always wakes to the smell of tea, the warmth of her shawl, and a quiet, kind, "Good morning."

It doesn't have to be for show.

That is what he told her. And while she does not smile, her eyes soften when he comments on the sunrise, and he knows the distance is closing.