She dreamed him, the night he died.
She was at the movie theater they'd worked at as teenagers; she'd hung back from the group she'd come with, plagued by her sudden shyness. Her friends in a knot over by the coming-soon posters, deep in animated conversation, not realizing that she'd slowed, stopped. She tucked her hair behind her ears. Nervous gesture.
And then she saw him.
Him. Her first love. So many years since they'd last spoken - dream logic gently pushed that away. His face lit up when he saw her.
He looked so happy.
He pulled her into a tight hug, holding her a moment too long for just-friends, seeming to breathe her in. Still holding her, he whispered in her ear, "I'm sorry."
She grinned, looking up at him. "For what?"
And she woke into the quiet of her apartment, dark but for streetlight glow, and she remembered.