She'll take flowers growing out of her mattress over flowers growing out of herself; morning glory wreathing her wrists, bittersweet trailing down the back of her neck, creeping reminders of solitude. Maybe she'll get lucky and no one will mention that to him.

"We can walk through the park first," she suggests. Getting in shouldn't be an issue but this early it would probably cause a stir.

And it seems to be good for him, being out in the fresh air, in nature. In fact that's exactly what she'd advised: to find what this other body wants and try to accommodate it, the same way she craves company and warmth as a naga.