Liesel Meminger never intended to fall in love with Max Vandenburg. But then again, she also never intended for many of the events in her life to happen. It seems to be a pattern with her. It was bound to happen you see- for people who share a common thread always find a way to each other.

Their love was not fast or instantaneous. It began, slow-burning, from the moment the man with hair like feathers entered a suit shop, and reunited with the word shaker in red. This woman in red was not the young girl Max remembered leaving all those years ago. This didn't look like the same little girl who read him stories, who brought him the weather, who inadvertently gave him the will to live. Her hair was no longer done in plaits, instead styled carefully with half pulled back. This word shaker no longer was innocent and naive. The too early wrinkles around her eyes were proof of that. She held herself with an air of maturity, radiating out from her soul.

As for Max, he was a young man who had aged too soon. Aged by Hitler, by hiding, by the concentration camp, and most poignantly, by longing. His whole life could be characterized by this longing, this desire. The longing for his deceased father, the longing to protect his mother, his longing to hide from Hitler, his longing to survive. Lately his longing had hovered steadily over the longing of a word shaker, the little girl blessed with the gift of words.

When they reunited, it was evident this little girl was no more. It was also evident to Liesel that the young, tired man had become an aged prematurely man. Max did look healthier than Liesel had ever seen him, but what he had been through was evident on his face, in his posture, and in his gait. Liesel had knocked him over when they reunited. Liesel had felt every bone and muscle she could get her hands on, to prove that this was really truly Max, and he came back for her. She never wanted to let him go.

They made the decision to live together. Liesel felt that she imposed on Alex Steiner, regardless of his countless reassurances that this was not the case. She knew the man had been so generous to share his space, but that he had to be tired by now of sharing his room. Max, on the other hand, had been done for quite some time with mourning, and had longed for company and companionship from the book thief since he last left her.

In the beginning, Max brought Liesel something she had been trying to attain since the bombing of Himmel- comfort. To him, she was solace, like a puddle in the middle of the desert. She was hope, peace, and goodness. They stayed in separate rooms initially, with her in the small bedroom where Max had insisted Liesel sleep. The creaky shaky bed was where she met her nightmares, where she tossed and tormented. And night after night, the bed was where Max met her, where he gently brought her back from the nightmares. From the ashes, the screams, the tears, the abandonment. Every night, she grabbed onto him, burying her face into his thin chest. He rocked her back and forth, grateful for the reprieve from his own nightmares and subsequent insomnia. Once her sobs had ceased, he gently placed her back into the creaky bed and resumed his position on the couch, knowing neither of them would sleep after that.

During their days, they worked on rebuilding. Rebuilding their lives, their identities, their souls. Liesel continued working for Alex Steiner, busying herself with stitches, ironing, in the details. Their days were filled with countless attempts- attempts at normalcy, at laughter, at peace. This left them emotionally exhausted, and their small apartment became a sanctuary. It was filled with mismatched pieces, gifts from Alex Steiner and the Hermanns, things Max had found. They tried for normalcy.

They tried and failed, each and every night, when the nightmares began. Liesel didn't mean to fall in love with Max you see, very much the same way she didn't mean for him to begin to share her bed every night. It was very much in the moment, when he came for her, much the same way he had every night the past two months they had spent together. Her tears had soaked through his shirt, her sobs were quieted, and he prepared to leave her room. She reached out a hand, caught him, and begged him to stay. "Please," she had said, "please don't leave me again." He hesitated, and she added, "Just hold me Max". Her braveness surprised her, but she was rewarded with Max's comforting presence throughout the night. As for Max, it was the first time he had slept in three days; only when Liesel was in his arms and asleep herself.

Max didn't mean to fall in love with Liesel. If anything, he actively tried to prevent it. He didn't want to ruin anything-Liesel's remaining innocence, since she had so little left, their friendship, their living situation. Which is why, that first night she asked him to stay, he agreed only after her begging. He couldn't deny himself the simple fact that he was most at peace when he held her every night, for those short minutes. He could pretend he wasn't a broken man more than twelve years her senior. He could pretend that they both hadn't experienced atrocities beyond words. Her sobs into his chest however, were a sharp reminder that those were merely fantasies.

The first night that he had stayed, he quietly awoke at dawn and retreated back to the couch. Not to sleep more, since he knew that was impossible, but to keep their behavior limited to the night. Max had known deep down that their relationship was changing. He could see it in the way he caught Liesel looking at him sometimes-with a burning in her deep brown eyes, a kind of hunger that he hadn't ever seen before. He felt it too-that stirring in his stomach whenever Liesel laughed, which was more common than it was in the early days. It was so easy that first night, to give into her tear streaked request. So easy that it scared him.

As for Liesel, that night was the first she had slept more than a few hours. She could feel Max's presence there beside her in the little bed, even in her dreams. His strong arms around her, comforting her, anchoring her. She longed for those arms to be around her more often. Her own thoughts surprised her these days, thoughts not very becoming of a precocious seventeen year old. She knew it was not only in her mind. Like those times she would catch Max staring at her and her body, causing her to blush. She longed for him, for his touch, to be more than the friendly interactions they had during the day, more than the necessary comforting at night. Liesel could guess how Max felt about it though. He would blame age, timing, propriety. Things that Liesel considered to be arbitrary.

The defining night came a week later. It was the anniversary of her little brother's death. She knew that Max knew. Liesel left one of her journals out in the living room, where she recorded daily events and daily remembrances. It was a way to connect her to Max, albeit silently. Liesel had dreaded the day coming, knowing that it would bring one of her fateful nightmares. This particular night, it had taken much longer than the half hour it usually took for Max to calm Liesel. She clutched at him, at his nightshirt with much more fervor. Max felt as though she would never loosen her grip. When her sobs quieted, she whispered into the darkness of the small bedroom. "Max…Max…Don't leave." Max had been expecting this, and he knew he would oblige her anything. What Max had not been expecting was Liesel's lips to meet his in an act of passion. He pulled away, murmuring, "Liesel, we can't…" This seemed to break the spell of the dark room, of the quiet. He could feel her tense up as she replied, "Max, I know what you are going to say to me. Age is the most arbitrary invention. I don't care that you think of yourself as old, or that you're not good enough for me. Max, you are all I've ever wanted. Max, you and I have lived a thousand years. Our souls have lived a thousand years and then some. Why should it matter how long our bodies have been on this earth for?" Max had silent tears streaming down his face before she was even finished, knowing he would give into her. He could not resist this book thief, a grown up woman gleaming with tears, expressing her complete and utter love for him.

Max did not reply with words, but instead with his lips, which softly met Liesel's. It was the beginning, that night, of the slow-burning love that was all consuming. Of a word shaker, who loved a Jewish fist fighter. Of a man with hair like feathers who loved a book thief.