They are happy memories, warm thoughts, and chocolate.

She is bounce and jest, constant motion—she has a thousand faces for a thousand smiles, and each makes him light up inside out.

He is the dusk and the dawn: quiet, muted, impermanent. He is her favorite time of day, all day, every day.

And it feels too good. It feels like the Marauders again. Maybe, even better…

Nostalgia for my teenage past: that's probably why I fell in love with a child, he thinks as he curls inwards, impaling himself on his hard, sharp thoughts.

Some days are dark. Some days the sun refuses to rise. Some days everything is falling apart outside them—and inside of them—and he hasn't left his desk chair in three hours, and she is sobbing quietly into the sheets in the next room.

Everything is fractured. Almost nothing fits. But they still find home inside of each other, as they curled up together in the shape of a question mark,

And they are the only answer.