Apocalypse Later

      The pitter-patter of rain on rooftop sounds like the crackle of flames to him, as he lays in his bed under a wool blanket.

     "Coffee's ready, my love." His wife tells him, from the rectangular slit that is the hallway light that illuminates the dark bedroom, through shadowy door and frame. "But stay in bed if you'd like, my dear. It's just coffee, not the end of the world."

     "Mmm-hmm..." His soft response.

     "I love you." She whispers.

     "I love you too."