Island.

It was the sun that woke her up that day, although it could have been a number of things of the sort. The crashing of a particularly rough wave, or the wind that licked against their cheeks, or even the gritty sand beneath their legs. But it was not any of those alternatives. It was the sun, perhaps Emma's favorite manner to be awoken, as long as Dean was lying there to enjoy it with her.

Eleven months. That's how long it'd been. Eleven long months since they had drifted out to that island. And as Emma scratched a large star on the wide, flat rock to represent another month, she silently wondered how many more she might have to draw.

She walked back to the make-shift camp Dean still soundly slept on, his arms sprawled across the palm leaf mat. He'd always been a late sleeper, despite Emma's early morning habits. She was often left waiting for him in the mornings, although she didn't really mind. It was nice to watch him sleep, his face smooth and his back gently rising and falling. But even so, she much preferred his company over the silence.

So she laid down next to him, tucking her feet against her knees and tracing the pattern of scattered freckles on his back with her eyes. She became so comfortable in this that she let out a small surprised gasp when his leg twitched and he turned over to face her. She held her breath for a moment, but let out a sigh when he lackadaisically moaned and his eyes fluttered open. He immediately turned to his side, searching for Emma. Of course, she was there, her curved, tanned back facing him. He smiled when he saw this, her curls twisting down her shoulder and onto the leaf mat they slept upon. He slid a tuft of hair between his fingers, wrapping it around his thumb and then letting it spring free. Emma felt the curl gentle thump against her back, and she turned her head to face him.

"You're up," he said surprised, and she shot him a crooked smile.

"Of course." She said, turning her entire body to face him. His eyes traced her bare frame, and chills ran down his neck as he did so. He silently wondered where he'd thrown her shirt last night; somewhere near the camp, he hoped. She couldn't spare to lose her only shirt, although, he thought, going without wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

"I'm starving!" He proclaimed, and sat up on the mat with a loud yawn. Emma nodded in agreement, and slowly pulled herself up from the mat and scanned the surrounding beach for her shirt. Their clothes had held up surprisingly well, requiring only a few repairs over the months. Of course, they spent lots of time in the water or sleeping anyway, times that didn't really require clothing. Emma silently thought this as she picked up her shorts, and scanned her arms, impressed with the tan she had acquired.

"Here," Dean called, and she looked over to see her blue shirt in his hand. He tossed it to her, and she slid it on quickly, her fingers flying over the buttons.

Breakfast, Emma thought, and quickly debated their options. They'd started a small garden a few months ago, containing some herbs along with a few juicy tropical fruits that had responded successfully to their planting. Dean had also set up a netting system in several places along the shoreline that brought in fresh fish with every rising of the tide. These were successful systems, gardening and fishing, that kept them full. Emma decided to head to the garden, and Dean followed behind her.

It was odd, now, how few words they exchanged. Of course they talked, about all sorts of things. But the simpler things, yes' and no's, where's and how's; they weren't needed. They just knew. Dean could see Emma's eyes asking to lift the trap from the net, and Emma knew when Dean wanted her to pat the dirt over a planted seed in the garden. They learned each other's body language. They learned each other.

Emma leaned down into the outer soil of the garden, pulling away a few stray weeds. Dean walked up behind her as she pulled a small green fruit they'd taken to calling 'stars' from its stem, and handed it to him.

"May," Dean said quietly.

"Hm?" Emma asked as she tugged another plump star from its holds.

"It'd be May." He clarified.

"It still is May. I mean, that doesn't change just because we're here." Emma said, and turned to face him.

"It doesn't feel like May." He shook his head, and then accepted another piece of fruit from her. They walked back to the beach in silence as Emma thought what Dean had said over. It made sense, she realized. Of course it was still May here, but something didn't feel the same. She wasn't filled with that pre-summer zeal, she hadn't thought to look for new sandals at the mall, and she certainly wasn't reviewing her plan for after graduation. It was so different now. It almost hurt to think about it. She carefully set the fruit on the mat and Dean mimicked this. He mumbled something about checking the nets, and she nodded. He swaggered off, the morning sun hitting his back.

She silently cut one of the stars up, using the knife Dean had created from a piece of bamboo. The juice dripped over her fingers and into her legs, leaving a sweet scent behind. It reminded her perfume, or the closest she would come to it here. It was gleeful, that thought, that moment, and when Dean hung a line of fish from the tree across from her, she was smiling.

"I love you, you know." She said, and he turned from his work and flashed her a real, genuine smile.

"I know." He said, and knew, that would always be the same.