He called himself Grayson. It was a name he had always liked and at some point he realized that the names given by other people meant nothing and he might as well use one he liked.
She called him many things, including Gray, because she valued the stories that went with each name, the origin of them, the stepping stones that led from how things were to how things are, and she liked to honor the history and the process.
They had been fastened to the ground near each other. Their original purpose was lost with the passing of time. They couldn’t touch. They couldn’t move at all. But, they could share their hopes and dreams and they learned to love each other. For a long time that simple state of being was enough. The knowledge that they loved and were loved in return sustained them through the long years of their solitude.
Then the world fell apart around them. Battles were waged, won and lost. Lands were torn asunder. Fires raged unchecked reducing the landscape to ash strewn scars, with only a few glimpses of what had stood before. Their love, their need to protect each other, worked one of the few true miracles the world had ever seen, and they shook themselves free of their concrete moors. Their love gave them life.
Seeing the danger they were in, she fell away first, knowing he would fall to catch her, to save her. He saw the danger too, of course, and knew why she fell. He knew she would fall before she even started. After all, he loved her and knew how she thought. So, he reached for her and followed her swift movement in one smooth motion.
He would save her. Neither doubted that. It was a truth written in the bones of the ground they’d been freed from. In saving her, he would be saved too and what happened afterwards didn’t matter. They would be together in their new reality, in their freedom, in their love.