the room is quiet, save for the soft, even breathing coming from beside you. jonathan is still asleep, his face half-buried in your pillow. one of his arms is draped loosely over your waist.

your room is a collage of the last year. photo booth strips are taped to the edge of your mirror. candid shots—you laughing, you concentrating on homework, you asleep on this very bed—are pinned to a corkboard above your desk. a wilting bouquet of daisies sits in a glass of water on your dresser.

downstairs, the faint sounds of your mom in the kitchen and the morning news on the tv drift up the stairs.