Immobile, made up with salmon pink lips, dressed in a memory stained sweater. A bracelet on the tan and slender wrist reflected the soft, yet obvious, yellow lights fixed in the ceiling, and she wondered who had placed it there, how they could have.

Immobile, flowers stacked around like a wreath.

A boy entered from the left, his face quivered and crumbled at the sight of her, and she ceased to care about the sick, pretty thing in the unfamiliar, pretty box. Slipping off her woolen gloves (she needed skin contact), her hands snaked around his neck and pulled him close. She had to stand on her toes to whisper love into his ear. It was a cold ear, and she wondered how long he'd wasted time out in the snow before coming inside before some small thing in her stomach reminded her that all there was now, was time. Her right palm pressed against his chest, over his heart, her left ruined the stiff, starched collar of his shirt in a fist and they clung, desperate and pleading. Their foreheads met and the silhouette they made reminded sad and silent payers of respect of terrible, grieving-heart angels.

The sudden, intense adrenaline passed, and while they still stood close and connected, their muscles relaxed and their breathing, which had been rapid and confused, slowed. One set of hands clasped and hung at their thighs, her thumb smoothed over his rough, whorled knuckles for need of friction. The other gently encircled his throat, a reassuring pressure on his Adam’s apple.  The girl hissed tiny jokes against the space between his nose and upper lip, and the boy smiled against her chin. Her breath reminded him of apples and mint, which reminded him of seasons, which reminded him of his sister.

He pulled away, a few, short inches that felt like a rip in the universe. His free hand disappeared inside his tweed pocket, emerging with a dully gleaming plastic card. It was blank and plain, but for a picture of a girl who looked just like him, and a prayer.

“Did you pick up a card,” his question more like a statement, staring at the token for a long, silent moment. “…It looks nice.”

Though she didn't know it then, the sound of his voice gave her a feeling that would stay with her the rest of her life.