That's ... more effusive than Octavia is expecting, but it's impossible to deny the relief and want for even this little. A crumb of, even desperate, acceptance.

Of treatment that doesn't start all glass sharded edges and distance. Clarke Griffin. Hugging her like she isn't something to be forever wary of attaching. Her answering that accusative (and earned) recrimination with the never-quite banked rage of watching Clarke scoot by without repercussions when she couldn't. The two of them like opposing magnets, always linked together by her brother, by their past, but so rarely in complete agreement.

Octavia lets herself be hugged, the shock winning first before she hugs Clarke back just as hard. Let's herself relish the collapse of it. Just for a second. Just enough to breathe it in. The want. The not deserving. The desperation for it under even that.

"Bardo." Octavia shook her head as she pulls back, coolly concerned expression save the intensity of those dark eyes, rather than any of the hollow scrapped out emptiness that place has carved into her head. Making her watch the worst of her life like it was just a story to rifle the pages of. "I haven't seen anyone. You neither?"