Another crying fit, another "fight," one of those that consisted of Eve doing the only thing she knew how to in the face of adversity: running away. Rubbing and rubbing at the bruise-colored skin under her eyes, shining with tears, drops of tears clinging to the pink pads of her fingers. "This is right, for me," he whispered in the dark. "This is the most wonderful, the most right thing I’ve ever had in my life. This is who I want to be when I grow up." She cupped his dear face in her hands, his blue eyes liquid in the dark, and anointing the sensitive bit of skin behind his earlobes with the salt tears on her fingertips, she kissed him. Holy, holy, holy.
"You never get to see the shooting stars."
A long pause while she looked over his shoulder into the night and felt his heart beating against her chest.
"Maybe I'm not supposed to have a wish."
