Before.

THE DAY began with a solitary ray of sunlight slipping between pulled curtains and splashing upon hardwood floor. It was the hottest day of the year, but nevertheless the smell of coffee mingled with new paper as a steamy mug was set atop a teetering pile of dog-eared books. White sheets were pulled back and a hand reached down to the coffee mug. The hand belonged to a red haired girl, in a blue flannel shirt spotted with bleach and dried paint. Sleepy eyes blinked around the room, a simple room, covered in polaroids and stray paint and canvases, some covered, some untouched. 
Footsteps pattered across the floor outside the bedroom, and a small boy opened the door and ran inside, slipping under the covers and cuddling into the neck of the girl. She stretched, and wrapped her arms around the boy. 
"Good morning, Caillen." she yawned. Little blue eyes peeked at the girl.
"Good morning, Syria." he responded shyly. He reached for the mug and took a tentative sip, and then made a face as the black drink ran bitterly down his throat. Syria laughed, and took the mug back, the boy smiling back at her. "Will you read to me?" Caillen asked.
Syria reached for a book, her fingers curling around Walt Whitman.
"O Captain! My Captain...."