Hes too early again, and the spring sun fills in the room like an ocean view.

Its peaceful now with the boys and men asleep, hours before they begin their day.

Her bed is small and she's even smaller, face in the sun and hair so long it drips off the bed,

Haru is gripped with the memory of Rin's blunt hair in his fingers and his chest squeezes.

The room is plain, frail, clean. A photograph, a hair ribbon.

It strikes him that you can love someone and not know or understand them at all.

"A deep thought for such an early morning." He murmurs.

Tohru is awake and staring at him like a predator.

"Good morning." He whispers, his eyes crinkling, crouching low to snarl his hand in her hair.

She makes a sound like prey.

"Go back to sleep," he intones and she doesn't bother to stutter an apology, obeying and shuddering her eyes back into slumber. He sits in the windowsill and lights a cigarette, he does not look down, he does not think about Rin. He does not feel her fragile, bird ribs in his hand cracking on the ground underneath.