Part One: Elliot

He walks home the way he always does, taking the shortcut through the graveyard. He sees nothing out of the ordinary, and stops to toss a stone to the side of his best friend's headstone. It rolls to a stop by the growing pile of similar sized stones, tossed there every day since her death. A cold breeze blows, and he turns up his collar to protect against the chill. He continues on his walk, on the same path he always takes. Nothing new. Until the day that there was something new. He was walking home, same route, same steps, same everything. Except for her. She wasn't the same. He saw a girl sitting by the headstone of his best friend. Close enough that he couldn't toss the pebble unless she moved. Her head was bent over something in her lap, her hand moving feverishly over the pages. Several wild curls whipped around her head, creating a life all their own. She tucked a couple behind her ear in vain, they only broke free and danced with more energy than before. He stood there and stared at her, not sure how to feel. This graveyard was his, the headstone even more so. It was his escape, the one place he was safe again. And now she was here too. He shoved his hands into his pocket, unable to do anything but stare. She didn't even look up. He finally moves on, walking quietly so as not to disturb the girl in the graveyard. He imagines that he feels her eyes on his back, but he doesn't look back so he can't be sure. The next day she's there again, her back pressed against the headstone, writing. He watches her, fascinated by the way her short curly hair has a life of its own. The way her hand seems to move of its own accord. The way her nose turns up just so, at the tip. The splash of freckles on her nose, the glasses balanced precariously on the bridge of it. She looks up for half a second, the late afternoon light falling directly in her eyes, making her squint to look up at him. He's gone so fast the believes she imagined it, though he knows the truth. The next day happens much the same. He watches her, she's unaware of his existence. He hasn't tossed a stone in three days. He needs to toss that stone. So on the fourth day he does. It skitters to a stop at her feet, and she looks up at him, a curl falling over her forehead. They stare at one another in silence, neither one able to produce a noise. Finally she lifts her hand in a half wave. He acknowledges it by lifting his fingers in her direction. Then he continues on. That night his vigilant mother notices a change in her sweet son. Nothing drastic, it's only barely there. But she sees it, the change that is only visible to a mothers loving eye.

On the fifth day, he tosses another pebble, and she almost smiles at him, but not quite. Her notebook is growing full, she writes quickly. That night, he puts on her favorite shirt. She always loved when he wore it. He hadn't touched it since that day. But that night he does. Only for a moment, on and then off again. No one even sees it. But he does.

On the sixth day he sits down on the path, and watches the graveyard girl. She continues writing, today she has another notebook, ready for when she fills this one. She looks up and notices him, half waves and half smiles. The edges of his mouth barely move, but she sees it. She looks up at him, then back down at her page. She repeats this many times, then rips the page out of the notebook. She folds it into a crude paper airplane, and tosses it to him. It falls at his feet. He looks down at it. His breath catches. He gets up. He walks, then runs back down the path. He falls into his bed, his mother asking him to unlock the door. He's silent, tears rolling down his cheeks until the last light of day kisses his forehead goodbye. He curls up in his bed. He doesn't sleep, and his head is filled with the last memory he has of her. Of her face contorted in agony. Of the paper airplane she tossed, right before. Of his inability to move, to help, to do anything.

On the seventh day he doesn't even look up at the girl. He tosses his pebble and walks on, barely noticing that he has stepped on the paper airplane. On the eighth day, she isn't there, instead there is a crumpled piece of paper taped to the headstone. It's a drawing. Of him. He takes it, hands shaking, and tosses his pebble. When he gets home he wordlessly hands the page to his mother. She takes it, and looks at him in confusion. He has no words of explanation. He hasn't since her death. She puts it in the back of her drawer, knowing he'll want it. Sometime.

On the ninth day, she still isn't there. He pauses at the headstone, tosses his pebble, and allows himself to wonder for a brief moment where she might have gone.

On the eleventh day, he leaves a piece of paper taped to the headstone. Two simple words he's sure she won't see.

come back.

The next day when he tosses his pebble, he sees that his paper is gone, replaced with a different one. He grabs it, afraid he might be imagining it.

why?

He flips it over, pulls a pen out of his bag and writes his response.

i need you.

The twelfth day, there's another response.

why did you run away?

memories.

of what?

her.

who?

her. the one in the grave you come to. that one.

oh. i'm sorry.

come back.

On the twentieth day, she did. She's sitting with her back pressed against the headstone, no notebook in hand. She's waiting for him. He sees her and he blinks to make sure she doesn't disappear. She doesn't. She smiles, her freckles dancing over her nose, dimples deep enough that he could disappear into them. One corner of his mouth curves upward ever so slightly, and one tiny piece of his heart begins to glow again. He sits down across from her, and watches her watch him. They sit like that, not a word spoken, until the sun has nearly disappeared. He finally gets up, waves goodbye, and walks on home. He didn't throw the pebble. She noticed, so the threw it for him. He arrives home and his mother notices again the difference in her son. He's lighter on his feet, the gold specks in his eyes are almost visible again. She doesn't say anything about it, but her heart speeds up with hope.

On the twenty first day, she's sitting cross legged again, waiting for him. He smiles, a real smile. The first since the death. She smiles back, so wide that it makes her eyes crinkle almost into oblivion. He sits down close enough to her that his knees nearly touch hers. They sit like this, watching each other. She finally hands him a note. He looks up at her, raising his eyebrows. She nods and he opens it.

thank you

its simple message. He folds it up, and nods at her. No words need to be said. He stands up and they go their separate ways.

On the twenty second day she waves excitedly at him. He walks over to her, wondering what she could possibly be so happy about. Her hair is tied back in a tiny little ponytail, strands falling out all around her face.

"Look what I found"

He looks at her in surprise. He's never heard her voice before, but now it washes over him like cool rain in the summer, making his skin prickle and his stomach flip. She opens her coat and the head of a tiny puppy peeks out. His whimper is barely enough to be heard as he looks up at her face. She grins and rubs his head, barely the size of her palm. He licks her finger, and looks as though he could be smiling.

"Want to hold him?"

Again, he's shocked by the sound of her voice. He nods, and holds out his hands. She gently places the puppy in them, and it excitedly licks his face. He smiles and before he realizes what's going on, a laugh has bubbled up from the depths of his stomach. He looks up at her in shock, as if she might know how he produced it. She smiles and shrugs. The play with the puppy until the light is long gone. She reaches her hands out and he places the puppy carefully in them. He starts to walk away, but the sound of her voice makes him stop.

"Wait... please..."

He turns around stares at her. She steps closer to him, close enough that if she took another step he'd have no choice but to touch her. He feels her hand brush his, and she looks down at her toes. He stares wonderingly into the curly mop on top of her head, and they stand there, not touching but not apart, either. Another sliver of his heart begins to glow, lifeblood running thorough it. Finally, she backs up, and turns around. They walk home.

On the twenty third day, she wastes no time.

"What's your name?"

He just looks at her, unable to make a sound. She waits for a moment, then nods.

"That's okay. Mine is Autumn."

A smile tickles the side of his mouth. He waves. She waves back.

On the twenty fourth day, she walks boldly up to him, reaching out and grabbing his hand. He tries to pull away but before he can she has placed a notebook in his hand.

"Can you tell me what your name is here?"

He nods, pulls out a pen.

Elliot

"Hi Elliot."

hi

She laughs, and the sound of it makes his skin hot and cold and tingly all at the same time.

"How old are you?"

17

"Me too."

He smiles down at her, noticing the deep green of her eyes for the first time. She continues to ask him simple questions about himself, and he answers simply. When the last light of day has made a golden halo around her head, and the wind has gone from chilly to cold, and the wind has gone from friendly to nippy, after all that it's time to leave. She watches him watch her, and finally he turns around. She grabs his hand, turning him around to face her. She reaches up on her tip toes, and barely touches her lips to his cheek. She turns around and walks away quickly so she can't see his expression. Another sliver of heart is glowing. At home, he greets his mother with a simple word.

"Hi."

Tears well up in her eyes immediately. The first word he had spoken to her in six months. The first word he had spoken at all in six months.

On the twenty fifth day he waves at her.

"Hi"

She looks at him in shock.

"Hey."

They smile at each other, not another word is spoken. She asks him questions about himself and he writes down the answer. His favorite color, ocean blue, number, 3, no he doesn't know why, his favorite ice cream flavor, rocky road, his favorite animal, dog. Then she asks a question that throws him off guard.

"What's her name?"

Claire.

She nods, and leaves it at that. His mother is used now to him coming home late. She doesn't know what he does, but whatever it is she knows it helps.

On the twenty sixth day she's not there. His heart sinks to his toes, but then he feels a hand on his shoulder and feels her breath in his ear as she whispers breathlessly
"Don't move"

He freezes, and they stand there, her chest pressed to his back, her breath making the skin below his ear prickle.

"See it?" she asks, her voice tickling his ear. She points and then he sees it. A small bird on the headstone, his breast so red its hard to look at. A smile spreads across his face and she laughs. The sound scares the bird away, but he doesn't care. He turns around and she starts to back up, but he reaches out a hand and pulls her back. He finds her hand on his chest, the heat of her palm spreading through him like a thick syrup. He loses himself in her eyes, and doesn't come to until his forehead is pressed to hers, his nose brushing hers, his lips close enough to hers that they're sharing the same air. His hands slip around her waist. Her eyes search his, hoping to find answers to her questions. They don't, but she realizes that it's okay. His breath speeds up, and she closes the gap. She presses her lips to his, her breath mixing with his, their hearts beating in sync. The stay in the embrace, mouth to mouth, chest to chest, hip to hip, knee to knee, foot to foot, until there is no her and no him, only a heart reaching out to another heart, wrapping it up, helping it glow. It glows, it begins to glow on its own, and as she wraps herself up in him, he realizes that he can feel again. He can feel every little thing, the way she presses herself to him, her soft lips on his chapped ones, her hand in his hair, his hand on her waist. Neither one is sure who pulls away first. He looks shyly down at his toes.

"Thank you." He whispers.

She kisses his nose in response.

When he walks home and opens the door, her hand in his, his mother knows that he's whole again. Not mentally, he wouldn't be mentally whole for a long time. But his heart. His heart is whole again. And she knows that she has the girl to thank.

So she thanks her.

The girl in the graveyard. Who saved her son.