Sometimes, when she closes her eyes late at night, she can still feel his fingers. She isn't sure why that is the detail she has latched onto, it seems a strange thing to remember, even to her. But the human memory is a strange thing, so she doesn't waste her time pondering it. This is what she remembers:

His thumb running along her jaw, a soft and tender touch she hadn't been expecting from him when they first kissed.

His fingers threading through her hair as his tongue swept across her lower lip. She opened her mouth to him and he pressed his tongue inside her mouth, fingers furling against her scalp.

The touch burning in only the most perfect of ways when he fan his fingers over her breasts, down her abdomen. Tracing the outline of her.

His fingers splayed across her ribs, below her breasts as he teased her. His tongue flicked her nipple and she arched towards his mouth, felt his fingers pressed harder against her ribcage as a result. Her heart beating hard enough that she was certain he could feel it.

His fingers wedged somewhat awkwardly between them the first time they made love. Quick, hard circles on her clit to launch her into the stars and she gasped out his name.

Fingers - both of theirs - laced together over her stomach afterwards. He kissed her neck, breathed her in, before they fell asleep.

Then her fingers. Just hers.

On his cold cheek.

Balled into fists at her side as she cried and cursed every god she could think to name.

Gripping the edge of his casket as she leaned over and whispered "I love you." Never past tense, because she could never stop loving him no matter what happened, how hard she tried.

Covered in dirt after throwing it into his grave.

Stroking Emily's back as she sobbed for her father.

Swiping under her own eyes at the tears there.

She doesn't know why she remembers the fingers.