The curl of his hand in hers is so gentle, no words needed. She breathes out, grips it tighter, and then she glances at him and smiles.
"Perhaps Greece?" she says, as if they aren't sitting at a funeral, as if their past and future doesn't lie dead and dying and fallen around them, as if they aren't just one small step from wanting to follow.
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"Perhaps Greece?" she says, as if they aren't sitting at a funeral, as if their past and future doesn't lie dead and dying and fallen around them, as if they aren't just one small step from wanting to follow.