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There is lingering snow on the gravel around the sand garden, the crunch of each offset by a strand of blonde-black-blue hair.
Mako slowly opens her eyes.
Raleigh is no longer a morning person, while Mako remains an early riser.
The first rays of sunlight fall on the bed and spill onto the ground. The floor-to-ceiling windows of the opposing wall present a large swathe of the sky, a dusty blue down to pale purple, before fading into pale pink and pastel yellow. Each shade rings with a different memory. The blue is that of the dusk she spent alone with Tamsin on her second visit to Hawaii and the purple sky is her and Yancy and Jaz playing out in the yard after school. Pink skies like when she first woke up after surgery after Knifehead and stumbled up to the roof because she never came down properly from their drift and their jaeger, she needs to feel tall before she can feel the fall and her body aches with the effort of holding himself up when he knows the fall is—
Mako sucks a deep breath in.
Through the course of the night, her and Raleigh have shifted away from each other. He is on his side at the edge of the bed. Mako has tilted, her head at the corner of the bed. Beneath the sheets, his feet are tucked into the space between her legs.
A car honks the many stories down below them, and it filters through into the honk of a goose through Raleigh’s subconscious into Mako’s own. Right now, Raleigh is in Budapest. His and her nose is cold from the crisp winter air, and the taste of warm pastries linger on her and his tongue. Raleigh is inside the bakery while Yancy and Mako wait outside, wind biting through the thin cotton of his and her gloves. Mako is inside the bakery talking to the shop owner in faltering french while Raleigh and Yancy are outside. Their positions switch and flicker with every moment, the yellow of the outside sunrise melding with the warm yellow glow of the lamps with the outside sunrise—
Mako takes a deep breath in, lets a deep breath out.
Memories ripple through her mind like sunrise on the ocean. Mako does not chase them (like he once chased after sable brown rabbits along a fence), does not allow herself to be pulled into the undertow of tumultuous emotion. Control requires objectivity, and she remains impassive as she assesses the tossed contents of her mind. Distant, but delicate, she sorts through it all.
That was her memory, that was his memory. This is her sorrow, this is his. This is their shared memory. This was once Yancy’s, then Raleigh’s, now shared delicately with Mako. This is hers, but currently tucked away with him. This is his, but it takes a moment for Mako to realize that it belongs with and to him.
She imagines the memories as boxes. She pushes his memories to the right side, and stores her own.
Mako is finally able to sit up, and untangle her body from Raleigh. She slides down to the foot of the bed, and pulls on her cardigan over her tank top. Boundaries settle back into place. She wants to be here when he wakes up, to collect what boxes are hers but are subconsciously buried amongst his, to separate themselves more fully once more; while also to ease the numbing ache of their left arm, to rediscover the red glow in their chest.
She does not want to be here now. She needs the full gradient of the sky, needs air and needs to make herself tall. Raleigh does what he can to sleep through pink skies and there is time yet until they tint blue, and time yet for Mako to return and fall back in with him.