The next morning arrived the way mornings always did.
Light through the curtains. Distant traffic. The illusion that nothing fundamental had changed.
Elior lay still, eyes open, listening to Aria's breathing beside him. Slow. Steady. Untroubled.
She didn't remember the green sky.
The thought surfaced again, sharp and uninvited.
He turned his head slightly to look at her. She was on her side, facing away from him, one arm tucked beneath the pillow. A familiar sight. Comforting, once.
Now it felt fragile. Like something that could shatter if he touched it wrong.
"Morning," she said softly, without turning.
"You're awake," he replied.
She nodded and rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. "You didn't sleep much."
Elior hesitated. "Did you?"
"Enough."
The pause that followed was small, but it mattered.
They moved through the morning carefully. Not avoiding each other, not arguing, just… adjusting. Like people navigating a room full of furniture that had been rearranged in the dark.
Aria made coffee. Elior watched the steam rise, half-expecting it to twist green in the light. It didn't.
"You still think about yesterday?" she asked.
"All the time."
She sighed, not frustrated, not angry. Tired. "Elior, I don't know what you want me to say."
"I don't want you to say anything," he replied. "I just don't want you to pretend it didn't happen."
She looked at him then. Really looked.
"I'm not pretending," she said. "I just don't see it the way you do."
"That's the problem," he said quietly. "You can't."
Aria frowned. "That's not fair."
"I know."
They stood there, the space between them filled with words neither of them said.
Later, they went out together.
It was Elior's idea.
If the world was going to end again, he didn't want to spend the days before it hiding indoors, staring at walls. He wanted proof that things could still feel normal.
The city cooperated.
People laughed. Buses ran late. Vendors argued over prices. Life unfolded with irritating persistence.
Daniel watched everything too closely.
Every shadow felt suspicious. Every flicker of light made his muscles tense. He found himself memorizing details without meaning to. The way sunlight hit the glass of a building. The angle of a street corner. The exact places where people tended to stop.
Aria noticed.
"You're doing it again," she said.
"Doing what?"
"Looking at things like they're about to disappear."
He didn't deny it.
They sat on a bench near a small park, watching children chase pigeons. Aria leaned back, closing her eyes briefly, letting the sun warm her face.
"For what it's worth," she said, "if you were dreaming… it must've been terrifying."
Elior stared ahead. "It wasn't terrifying because it was loud or violent."
She opened her eyes. "Then why?"
"Because it felt… final," he said. "Like the universe had already decided, and we were just catching up."
Aria didn't respond right away.
When she did, her voice was softer. "You're talking like someone who's already lost something."
Elior swallowed.
He thought of the way her hand had tightened around his just before the heat took everything. The way she had been there with him at the end.
"I don't want to lose you," he said.
She turned fully toward him now. "You're not."
"But I could."
"That's true for everyone," she said. "Every day."
Elior shook his head. "Not like this."
She studied him for a long moment, then reached out and took his hand. Her grip was firm. Real.
"I'm here," she said. "Right now. That has to count for something."
It did.
And that was the problem.
That night, Elior lay awake again, staring at the ceiling. Aria slept beside him, one arm draped across his chest this time, as if unconsciously anchoring herself.
He stared at the darkness and thought about the calendar entry on his phone.
Seven days away.
The end of everything.
He realized then that the loop wasn't just about the world.
It was about this.
About being given time he couldn't share. About knowing something he couldn't prove. About standing beside the person he loved while carrying a certainty that made every ordinary moment feel temporary.
The world hadn't just ended.
It had come back wrong.
And so had he.