A/N: ah I didn't expect this to be left with no updates for this long! I can only apologise and give you this new (slightly short) chapter. I hope you enjoy it, it went through a lot of editing to get to this final version!Thank you for your support!

CHAPTER 5: TRIPS TO CHURCH AND PREGNANCY RESEARCH

After another uncomfortable night in bed together – this time with Hermione cocooning herself with the quilt, leaving Draco to quietly freeze and wrest it from her in her sleep – Hermione and Draco were glad that they hadn't been woken up by any of her family. Instead, they woke up of their own accord, when they were completely rested and the sounds of outside morning life became too noisy to ignore. At almost 9 o'clock, they showered (separately) and dressed (splitting themselves between the privacy of the bathroom and the bedroom), before going down to the kitchen for breakfast (together).

Draco was slightly perturbed at the unusual quietness of the entire house. He'd been there for only a few days, and it had never been this silent, this seemingly empty; he was almost completely used to the nuances of family life in this house in his short time there, and found it more alarming than Hermione seemed to. Where he thought it was wrong, she shrugged him off, also unusually silent in the morning, and proceeded to cook them both an English Breakfast. They ate together at the table with sparse chatter, mostly about the information that they had gleaned from the several pregnancy books that they had bought the other day when she had taken him out into the town – which, to his utter astonishment, still had Granger-owned businesses littered about, meaning that the car-ride through there was most definitely not a hallucination. Together, they arranged finer details of the plan.

She was 3 weeks pregnant, as she had told Adam by some compelling force. That meant that she had conceived about two or so weeks ago, and that they had around 9 weeks until she began to show her bump and completely dispel whatever claim that they were putting forward. From 12 weeks onward, she either was or was not pregnant, which meant that they had to stage a miscarriage before then or find a way to fake a baby bump until the timing and circumstances allowed it. They were hoping for the former currently, but they knew that with her entirely family being unpredictable, they had to be prepared to carry it on for even longer. Until then, they had to upkeep the morning sickness, overplay of emotions and the random aversions and cravings for particular types of food; on top of that, she was aware that she may have to fake the occasional headaches and lightheadedness, and was more than happy to participate in bogus feelings of fatigue.

"That," she had said, sipping a caramel latte that she had also made for him, surprising him in her unrequested generosity, "will give us a fine excuse to escape any family time that has ran on for a tad too long."

He tried to breach the subject of how they were going to conceal the fact that she was still having a period – whenever and if it decided to come on during this holiday – but Hermione wouldn't have it. They were boss and assistant, barely with understanding and the knowledge of the life that the other had lived, and definitely not friends; there was no way that she was going to have a casual conversation with him, of all people, about her period. That minor detail was going to be undertaken by herself and herself only – and if she was extraordinarily lucky, something that she hadn't been in a while, he would never know that it had happened.

They lapsed into a vaguely uncomfortable silence after that. Hermione seemed more accustomed to the disappearance of noise than he was, which was fair enough considering that she was the one who usually lived here, but Draco, too, was accustomed to a quiet home and he just couldn't become used to this. Setting down his utensils, he asked Hermione once more, "Where is all your family? They can't still be asleep. That's unheard of."

She looked uncomfortable and brusquely told him that they were all "out".

"Out?" He repeated, disbelieving even that. He had a loose understanding that with her looking as uncomfortable as she did, and with an answer as aggressive as she had just given him, that he shouldn't continue to press it, but he just couldn't help it. His curiosity had to be satisfied. "Out without us? Without you?"

"Yes," she said simply.

He narrowed his eyes. "That's not fair. They didn't even tell us, or asked if we wanted to go."

"It doesn't matter, Malfoy. You wouldn't have even wanted to go."

"No," he said slowly, "but you obviously feel just as insulted by it." He took a sip of his latte. "So, where was it that the whole family went?"

"You wouldn't even know what it was."

His eyes narrowed. "Try me."

Hermione rolled her eyes and ate her breakfast with overdramatic chews. "They've all gone to Church."

Draco blinked. That was a word that he definitely did not know or understand. In all the time that he had been immersed in Muggle culture, he had never heard of someone going to Church. He could tell that Hermione knew that he had no clue what she was referring to, but she did not attempt to explain what it was or why they weren't invited to it. His only thought was that it was perhaps somewhere that Wizards weren't allowed – but that was unlikely.

Wizards couldn't be banned from places, since only a minority knew that they existed; and the places that they really weren't allowed to go to were common knowledge.

He sipped his latte once more, slowly, to draw out the time as he thought of something to say to her as she watched him with a deadpan expression. "And," he said, conceding, "what is that?"

She sighed heavily, as if it really was too much of a burden to indulge him or even think about it. "It's somewhere that Muggles go to pray. To worship."

Hermione wasn't sure whether the light in his eyes was mocking or genuine curiosity as he leaned imperceptibly forward and said, "Worship, what?"

"The Being whom is believed to have created this entire world; whom is believed to have died to save us all from sin. Christmastime is a big event for those who go to Church; it celebrates the lead up to His birth."

His eyes lighted further, and Hermione felt regret for telling him anything about Church as he told her that he should like to attend Church.

"It sounds like the perfect opportunity, with the story starting at his birth. It sounds like the beginning. This would be perfect to show off in court."

"No," she said firmly, her entire face shutting down before his eyes. "We're not allowed."

He blinked. So there it was. His confirmation. They, as magical beings, had thought to be outcast from this one Muggle tradition – but still Draco had never heard of such a thing. He believed her to be bluffing at the very least; a dirty accusation to someone who seemed to be as upset by this discrimination as he, but it was his only thought. "Because of our blood," he asked, "or because of something else?"

Her mouth was set firm. "Because of our blood. Our magical blood."

His own mouth tightened, becoming petulant. "I've never heard of such banning," he said.

Some colour rose to her cheeks, her teeth grinding together. "You've never left Wizarding communities long enough and truly immersed in Muggle life to be aware of it."

A growl rose in his throat, knowing that she was lying to him, keeping something from him intentionally for the first time, but he quietened it. A feeling in the back of his head, wiggling and worming to the forefront of his mind - as he drank in her facial expressions and twitches, her body language - alerted him to the fact that this was instead a personal offence as he forced his fingers to relax. He grinned lazily even as his blood burned in his veins. "You seem very stressed this morning, darling," he said smoothly. "Too much stress can't be good for the little Malfoy."

"If his father would leave me alone for five minutes…," she muttered to herself.

"Nothing a little romp in the sheets won't fix, I'm sure."

She sucked her teeth. "I'm already pregnant, what more do you want?"

He tried not to shrink back from her abrupt snap or let the surprise show on his face. He had never pushed her this far before, and never had been so unaware to how close he was to crossing the line. His soul strained against its mortal cage, trying to reach hers, caress hers, as he wondered whether this was a moment that Muggles would pray silently to themselves in.

He prayed that it wasn't down to Henry for making her like this, after everything else that he had done to make her stay away from her home for so long. He prayed that she would let him help her, for once.

"I should at least like to see this building made for worship," he drawled, all petulance gone. "We can at least admire the Muggle architecture, can we not? Memories of learning knew Muggle traditions would surely help me this time around, would it not?"

She visibly relaxed a little, but she was still stiff. "You would've seen the buildings before; you just didn't know what they were."

He wrinkled his nose. "I don't care; this empty house gives me the creeps. I need to get out until your family comes back." He stuffed a large bite of food into his mouth and swiped his plate from the table, taking hers along with him despite the fact that she hadn't exactly finished, and dumped them in the sink. "I should like to go outside and be shown Muggle architecture and culture by the girl - by my pregnant girlfriend - whose family seems to own this town. Maybe the fresh air will help you relax a little?"

Her lips twisted, and he saw that she was about to deny him. He leaned forward to grab his latte and took a swig, hoping that the caffeine gave him an idea, as it always did. Her lips parted, but-

He grinned wildly, and then, "I promise that I won't go inside, if we're truly banned."

She must wish for him to discover what was really wrong, she thought bitterly to herself, as she allowed him to press close to her side, their arms interlocked. He asked her questions about Muggle religion, the light in his eyes burning brighter as he became more knowledgeable.

He would've been a perfect companion for her in another life, but for some godforsaken reason she couldn't have that perfect, inquisitive gentleman. She was stuck, instead, with a conniving, manipulative bastard, who somehow laid his charm down so thickly that he had managed to convince her to take him to see the Church.

Draco watched her curiously, as he listened to her talk about Christianity. Apparently, it was the reason why her family were looking down upon them for having a child outside of marriage; if he had known, he told her, he would've fabricated the lie more in the courtroom to make them more favourable to her family.

Hermione told him that she didn't think that she could've handled being secretly married to him and pregnant with his child all at once. She'd rather that he didn't try to cheat himself out of Azkaban in the first place.

She seemed to relax more talking about it outside, where they were freer and he was less pushy after having gotten his way. Hermione was still stiff, unused to being tucked so closely to his side, and her voice was still hard, not quite bitter but with a healthy amount (in his own, tempered opinion) of ire in it. He didn't voice his assumptions to her, but instead thought through the conversation that he wanted to have with her at the Church.

They turned down a small pathway that veered away from the pavement that they were on, by a road, and into a small woodland patch. As he thought and contemplated and recalled, he brushed branches and brambles out of the way for Hermione to pass through, to her protests, as she led the way to a stone building that loomed in the near distance.

When they passed out of the thicket, Draco was pleased to note that his shoes, thanks to the frozen ground, had minimal amounts of mud on them. He also thought that the faint birdsong was lovely and that the isolated building (which Hermione informed him was, in fact, a Church) was mighty for its small size – but he was mainly pleased about his shoes. They were the last pair that he had brought before his wealth was confiscated, and of course, he spent as much of his wealth on these as he dared.

And as Hermione had previously told him in the kitchen, he had seen several of those buildings before. This smaller version didn't mean much to him, and its stained glass windows were frosted over and seemed far less impressive.

However, he did think it was odd that this was a place that people gathered to worship; the fact that it was made of stone surely would've made it cold inside, and the idea of walking through a cemetery to get to the entrance was rather morbid and off-putting. Though, he reasoned, Muggles weren't able to see the ghosts drifting about the place like he and Hermione were. Perhaps that was why she was so reluctant to go anywhere near the place – which would mean that he was wrong in is assumption - but he knew that that wasn't it. That wouldn't be the reason she told him that wizards were barred.

Hermione paused at the gate that led into the cemetery, holding his arm tighter as he took a step past her. "This is as far as we go without trespassing," she said to him, pulling back so that he was in line with her.

There was a very, very faint sound of people singing coming from the church, probably only possible to hear because it was so silent, and he was slightly mesmerised. "I can't even get a closer look?"

She frowned and shook her head. "I didn't know that you were so into architecture."

He looked wolfish. "I just want to know what's so special about this place that they decided to put restrictions around it." He looked at her and cocked his head. "It's strange. At my Manor, there was always the faint hum of Wards. Are you sure that we can't step on this land?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Is there a reason why you're so persistent to break the Law?"

He only smirked and moved towards the gate, his strong pull dragging her along behind him, against her protests.

"What are you doing?" She dug her heels into the ground as much as she could, but it was still frozen and provided no extra grip. "We can't go in there," she said adamantly.

He huffed out a laugh, his breath turning cloudy in the winter air. Draco looked to the closed gate with a smug expression, and then back at her. "Of course we can," he said. "I think they're lying to you, darling."

With one hand, he unlocked the gate and pushed Hermione into the cemetery, moving in quickly after her and shutting it once more. He looked to Hermione and cocked his eyebrow, before leaning against the frosty wood. She hissed at him. "Oh look," he said, amused at her horror. "We're in."

She beheld him with embarrassment and fury. It was only now did she allow herself to realise that he knew that she was lying this entire time. "You bastard," she snarled at him.

His eyes glinted. "I've been called worse by worse than the likes of you."

She felt so betrayed, so angry and humiliated that she didn't know what to do, or how to solve it. She couldn't cope with his mockery or pity – or whatever it was that led him to do this.

She hit him.

Draco saw her hand coming, but decidedly didn't move out of its way. He let her hand make contact with his cheek, the skin quickly going red in the cold and stinging even more because of it. He looked at her with a raised eyebrow as if to say, Are you done yet?

No. "You lied. You said that you wouldn't go inside," she said.

"I said that I wouldn't go inside if we were truly banned. My promise has been kept, thank you very much." The corners of his lips turned down at the edges. "Now, who told you that a Wizard couldn't come inside here?"

She stayed silent, seething and ashamed.

His voice became firmer as he repeated the question.

"Who do you think?" Hermione snapped. "The only ones who know that I'm a witch. My parents."

His lip curled. So it was Henry. "And were you truly oblivious to the lie of being banned from this place – or were you just an obedient daughter, content to let them take this away from your life?" His hand wanted to reach out and touch her and pull her closer to him, to make her understand, but he knew that he'd scare or startle her away. "Your father clearly doesn't respect you, Hermione."

"It wasn't just him." Fury at the force and tricks he'd used on her still lighted her eyes, but she ground her teeth and considered actually letting him know what plagued her about this place. She must've wanted him to know, she reminded herself, if she had succumbed to his charm about visiting it so easily. "They were never so devout before they discovered I was a witch," she said, "but afterwards they attended and prayed more often. It's a belief that any kind of magic is devilish. They must've felt so ashamed, so cursed, to be the ones to have a witch daughter." She took a ragged breath and paused for a moment, calming herself down. There were tears in her eyes. Draco continued to watch her silently and solemnly, he could barely hold eye contact but his blood was singing once more with the shared rage and empathy. "I knew that I wasn't 'banned', but I wasn't welcome and that was good enough. It'd be wrong of me – of us - someone cursed with devilish power, to taint such a holy place, I was told. I was left in that house, alone, every Sunday morning when they went out, until I was sent to Hogwarts. I hardly ever returned home for Christmas; they'd be out then, too. I've never gone back to here, never this far. And now – now I'm pregnant outside of marriage too. Not to mention all the other horrid things that I've done: fighting in a war – murdering in a war; aiding a criminal through lies; stealing." A harsh laugh fell from her lips. "They would think that I was truly evil. I must be truly evil in this aspect."

"That's ridiculous," he said, so emphatically that Hermione would've believed that he was mocking her and refusing to understand anything that she had just said to him, if she was not watching his face. He seemed outraged on her part and more. She watched him lurch forward, and thought about backing away from him, humiliated at her admittance, but he caught her face in his hands and gently jostled her. "That's ridiculous," he said again, trying calm his ire. "I can't believe that they would do that to you. Why would they ever do that to you? There's nothing evil about you, Hermione. There's nothing wrong with you. It's not a curse to be Magical – it's a gift."

A tear escaped, as much as she didn't want to cry or anything of the sort. But then another slid down her face. And another, and another. Draco wasn't sure what to do. As he muddled through his thoughts, his calloused thumbs brushed away the new tears trickling down her face, as she watched him with surprise; she hadn't quite expected it to go anything like this.

She didn't quite want it to be like this, after years and years of not solving it for herself.

Hermione pushed back from him, and considered Apparating home, leaving Draco to retrace his steps back to the house. Yet, when he reached for her again and pleaded her name, she found it within herself to hiss back, "don't act like you understand any of this or how I feel. Don't act like you don't think that this is the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard in your unrestricted life."

His eyes turned icy, encompassing any shred of empathy that she thought she saw there. He pushed off the gate and stepped towards her with such

deadliness, that this time she did take her own step backwards. "I know exactly how you feel," he said, his voice low. Hermione would have preferred it if he was shouting at her, snarling and spitting like a dog, but he spoke deeply and slowly as if he was painstakingly trying to convince her. "You don't think that after my Death Eater lifestyle – after the war, where I, too, murdered – my freedom to go where I want or do what I want has changed? You don't think that it would be disrespectful - or shameful - of me to go to public places, where some families may still be mourning. My parents are dead-," He hissed those words, and Hermione tried to be less infuriated when she heard his voice crack ever so slightly – "and I can't go visit their graves, which I had to pay a tremendous amount for, to have them placed with the other fallen, because of who I am and what I chose to do. Before I was ever warned that it would be disrespectful to show my face at the graveyard, I was openly attacked. But that's wrong; they can't make me feel forever guilty for my teenage mistakes - for mistakes that I didn't out rightly commit myself." He turned his face slightly away from Hermione, mortified that he had let himself go like that. What was with this place, making himself and Hermione open up to each other like that? He hoped that this was going to be forgotten about. "You can't let these things limit your life. It's not your fault you're a witch; there's nothing you can do about it - and why should you want to?" He let all his breath flow out of him. "Wouldn't you agree that I'm the only truly evil one here?"

She blinked. A teardrop caught on her eyelash; they ignored it. She ignored his questions.

Draco reached for her again, the fire in his veins doused. She allowed him to draw her in closer, and promised to herself that she wouldn't accuse him or be suspicious of his empathy again without learning about his experiences; Hermione hoped that he would be less manipulative when wanting to know something or prove himself right. "Hermione," he said softly, "if you want to go to church as one of the purest and good witches in the world, then you damn well can. And if you don't, that's fine; but you shouldn't let those ignorant shits make you feel ashamed for being a witch. You're the best witch there is."

She didn't know what to say to that. "You made me feel ashamed of being a witch. Hypocrite."

To his credit, he didn't even so much as flinch away from her. "I know," he said. "And I'm sorry; I understand now. But you never took any notice of what I - or anyone else - said about you being a witch at Hogwarts. You shouldn't do differently here. Whatever anyone says about it, they're wrong."

She didn't quite expect it to be like this, after years and years of not solving it for herself. Yet, maybe she had just needed someone to hold her hand and take her there and support her; someone who would know her as she was, as a witch – who was good and pure – and as someone who has been discriminated against, someone who would stand next to her and hold their ground. Someone who was similar to her in these aspects.

It wasn't as cold inside the church as Draco had imagined. He put it down to the number of people there, pressed closely together on the benches to create extra space for others; and perhaps the candles that they had lit and the lighting accounted for the extra warmth. He liked the atmosphere of the place too; he liked how finely it was decorated in the inside, and how the glass windows looked better within the building, with the flames and lights illuminating it. He liked how many people had gathered together for this (though many of them were Hermione's family) even though it was freezing outside – and, to Draco, a little bit of a cult thing.

After all, he would know.

He and Hermione had quickly and quietly slipped inside of the building, taking their place at the back doors so as not to create more of a disturbance. Barely anyone looked at them when they had entered, but that suited both of them just fine - although, Draco must admit that he wished that he knew where Jean and Henry were seated and whether they knew that they were now having Mass in the presence of two of the Devil's minions. He wondered what the reactions of everyone else would be like if they knew, and entertained himself with those thoughts until the aging man – The Priest – began talking to the gathered crowd. All throughout the Mass, Draco contently listened to what was being said; his brows furrowed and forehead creased as he tried to keep up with The Priest. He knew that there was a lot of information that he was missing for him to truly come to grips with what was going on, but he didn't let that stop him.

Hermione, fantastically in her element, as she should be (though it had been almost two decades since she'd last gone, and even she said that it had changed), was more peaceful, as if their anger and feud outside had never happened. She felt so gratuitous to the man beside her – although still weary and puzzled over what had just come to pass – that when he whispered his questions and comments about what was happening to her, she answered him. She helped him find the songs in the hymnal, and smiled at his tentative (yet bawdy) singing; it was Draco's favourite part of the Mass, he would later tell her. She told him what to do before, during and after the Eucharist. Hermione told him why they did it, who Jesus was and what happened with him quietly and quickly; he listened carefully, and then – he laughed suddenly and loudly.

Everyone's attention turned to him, and the service momentarily paused as they took in the crazed fool and his partner kneeling at the back of the church. With a small smile on her own reddening face, caused by the extent of his mirth and the understanding of it, she elbowed him in the ribs and apologised quietly to the clergy. When Mass had resumed and everyone had turned away from them, finally, with unimpressed and curious looks, they stood and began to file on to the end of the queue to receive Communion. He leaned down to her as they joined the queue. "These fools are hypocrites," he whispered. "The one they worship can perform magic - and they hate you for being able to do it?" He slung his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to him; she allowed him to, relaxing into his chest, and stayed there. "Don't ever listen to them again."

Once Mass was over, they left the Church together, Hermione glowing more than Draco (which was to be expected), but equally content. They did not hold hands, but Draco's itched to make that sort of physical connection with her; it seemed like the right symbolism, to show that they were with each other and he was lending his support – but this was also Hermione Granger, and he wasn't quite sure whether what he had done for her was as grand as he seemed to think it was. Their moment of closeness had passed.

Even when Hermione's parents saw them, with Adam and a few of her cousins, uncles and aunts milling about, who were standing by the gate that led away from the Church and back to the house, they kept their distance from each other.

Hermione faltered in her step a little when she saw them all, which allowed Draco to momentarily hold her elbow to steady her; she looked at him and he dropped his hand, but they moved closer. Her family generally looked surprised to see her at church with them, solidifying the truth that Hermione hadn't been out with them on a Sunday in over a decade, but neither Jean nor Henry looked very impressed. As shocked as everyone else, yes, but more in a scandalised manner, which made Draco straighten himself into an authoritative position. Perhaps any of the expressions were due to the way that they had arrived to the Mass or when he started laughing during the Eucharist.

"Good morning," Jean said as they came closer. "How are you feeling today, dear? No morning sickness? I hope we didn't wake you both up this morning."

Jean interlocked her arm with Hermione's as Draco distanced himself again, and followed the party back to the house. He stayed close to her in case she needed it, but didn't want to look like he was intruding; he shared a glance with Henry over the heads of the ladies.

"We're fine, thank you," Hermione said. Draco wasn't sure if by "we" she meant to include him or the theoretical baby, but smiled at Jean nonetheless. "The ceremony today was lovely, wasn't it? Draco's never been before."

"Oh, really?" Jean said. She didn't sound surprised at all. "And what did you think of it?"

"Quite pleasant," he said. "After that experience, it seems to me that there's nothing stopping me from taking up religion."

Lauren, who was walking with them nearby and clearly eavesdropping on their conversation snorted quietly and Draco sneered at her. "You don't particularly seem like someone who would be interested in religion," she said.

"I wasn't aware that there were certain types of people that could be involved," he retorted.

"There aren't," Hermione said, looking to Lauren. "He's only been to Mass once, he might not know if he's someone who could carry it on for life, but there's no harm in attending to see what it's like from now on."

"Church isn't a new sport that you can try out for a few weeks to see how it is and then drop it, Hermione; it's a commitment," Henry said. "And Mr Malfoy here doesn't even have enough commitment to marry you."

They both reddened. Jean chastised him for saying this so bluntly in front of the whole family; she hoped for no arguments on this day.

"I don't believe in speeding up a proposal for no other reason than to prevent a child from being a bastard," Draco spat before Hermione or anyone else had a chance to say something further. "Your daughter and I have our own life plans, and it is not your concern whether I will or never will marry her."

He could tell that he was offending them by implying that he may never have the intention of marrying Hermione – and, he thought, it was a shame that it was true – but he couldn't retract anything that he had said and he didn't want to. He would've taken the bullet as it came, but Hermione, ever the saint even when riled, tried to reason and diffuse the tension slightly.

"Mum, dad, look: he doesn't need to marry me to show me commitment," she said firmly. "The very fact that he didn't leave me when we discovered that I was pregnant and is here with me right now is enough for me."

Henry grumbled, but stayed quiet after a look from his wife. The Granger party didn't speak much after that, making the walk back to the house tense - but Draco and Hermione both somewhat reveled in it.

After a roast dinner and dessert, Hermione claimed to be feeling exhausted after a very busy and exciting day and Draco escorted her back to their bedroom. In part, he was glad to do this as he didn't yet feel very comfortable with Hermione's family, but by doing this he was missing opportunities to worm his way in.

"I wanted to- not so much thank you for today, but to say that I'm grateful for what you said," Hermione said as she curled up on the bed.

Draco disappointedly realised that they weren't just going to ignore what had happened today, and just nodded in return.

"It meant a lot," she pressed further, hoping for more of a response.

"Mhm," he hummed, choosing a pregnancy book from the shelf to read.

"Especially that you said sorry."

Draco dropped his head. He knew that he couldn't ignore this forever, particularly with her insistence to get a reply. "And I meant it," he said. "You better treasure it, Granger, you won't hear it again from me."

She tried not to smile. "Of course not," she said.

She picked up her own pregnancy book and paged through it as Draco joined her on the bed with his own. For the rest of the evening, and a bit longer into the night for Draco, they looked through these books and shared information with each other. They showed each other pictures and fine-tuned their plans, only interrupted by Lauren once or twice which only really seemed to bother Draco.

They had had a small moment today, a movement in their relationship. It was a weirdly nice moment, both of them reflected, to be able to confide in someone that sort of understood. In that cemetery and the Church, they had been more like partners than they had ever been, and for a brief moment when he was lying in bed he thought maybe - just maybe…

But then she kicked him under the covers in her sleep and that moment was quickly over and never thought of again, much like what had happened outside the Church. Moments are brief and don't mean anything, he concluded. They were going to be back to normal tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that...

He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.