The sun hadn't spread her rays yet.

His bare feet sank into the muddy, cold ground as he walked down the small path. The drizzle that painted the world in pastel made him shiver but he didn't feel and didn't want to, and his grey shirt that wasn't really his – but what did it matter they had always shared – clung to his body.

She hadn't come to the funeral but later he remembered that he hadn't been surprised when he saw her lying under the old weeping willow the next day, covered in dirt, wet hair in her face, trembling and whimpering.

Their faces were blurry and the world seemed to fall down beneath them when his freezing hands found her clammy shoulders and pulled her up. She opened her eyes and for a second he was sure she wasn't crying.

The willow bowed and drops of desolation made them gasp out so silently and quick that they weren't sure they had lived for a moment.

Slowly and numb they arose and their heads were crowned by branches, only for a moment, then cold wind bit into their eyes and minds. She leaned against him, forehead against chin, trembling and still.

The rain beat down on them and when she looked up at him he couldn't tell anymore if she was crying or not, their faces were so wet, so blear, so far away. She stretched a bit and her cheek touched his and it could as well be his tears under her closed eyes.

Suddenly, her lips and fingers trembling, she leaned forward, her hands grabbed his head, pulled him closer, so close he could see her anymore and she kissed him, hard, fierce and numbing.

Backing away, almost losing his footing, he struggled and she let go.

When he turned, his body shivering for the first time since he had left the house, his gaze met her pleading eyes. Tears, he was sure there were tears on her cheeks, on her lips, everywhere.

His right ear was missing, irreplaceable.

She said words he had sensed the moment she had touched his cheek, because he knew why and he didn't want to know.

The sun rose and as she broke down, he stood there, unable to exist, feeling alive again.

Yes, this is about George and Angelina. No, I don't own them.
I hope there aren't too many mistakes, English is not my mother tongue.