The epilogue?

Some mornings she would still wake up and stare at the boy laying next to her. She couldn’t help but wonder why he chose her, why he was there; then again, as Laira told herself all the time; it wasn’t particularly her fault, so why worry. ‘That’s right!’ she thought ‘It’s all his fault.’ But it was no use; her hand unconsciously ran through his mussed ebony hair, down his bruised jaw. Even in sleep he looked stalwart but yet his face gave way to an elusive grin.

It was time to rise and shine but as she stirred to start the day a muscular, bandaged hand reached out and held her arm. The hand closed well over her entire lower arm and as a gruff and impossibly low bass groan escaped him, she smiled. She had just remembered the answer to her question.
Without looking behind her she knew he was probably staring at the back of her head, just willing her to turn around. “good morrow, fair Athena” Where did this obsession with Shakespeare come from? Such an amusing man…

Still refusing to turn, “Доброе утро . If you let you’ll get food,” she planned on bribing her arm back. Jokingly she continued, “Who knows maybe I’ll bring it t-” but he cut her off. Pulling her down so the woman’s head rested on the thighs of his outstretched legs he kissed her tenderly, grinning throughout. The dried blood on his split lip sweetly mixing in with her raspberry-n-honey chapstick. Can’t call it heaven, but close enough.