( She slots against his too-thin chest, fitting perfectly against it despite the ways in which the shape of him has changed. Filling an empty socket that's been waiting for her for too long. His arms wind around her shoulders, around her slender back, and he buries his face into her hair. She smells the same as she always does — like the ocean, like waves, like sunblock, like salt water and sunshine.
For the first time in years, he feels himself exhale a breath he's been holding for too long. A four-fingered hand passes through red locks, shaking just a little.
I'm not going anywhere, she says.
He can't help the way he rasps out what he meant as a joke, but very much does not sound or feel like a joke: )
Promise?
( Because she wasn't supposed to go anywhere the last time, either. It's stupid, and it's childish, but maybe if he'd thought to make her promise that before, somehow... none of it ever would have happened. )
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For the first time in years, he feels himself exhale a breath he's been holding for too long. A four-fingered hand passes through red locks, shaking just a little.
I'm not going anywhere, she says.
He can't help the way he rasps out what he meant as a joke, but very much does not sound or feel like a joke: )
Promise?
( Because she wasn't supposed to go anywhere the last time, either. It's stupid, and it's childish, but maybe if he'd thought to make her promise that before, somehow... none of it ever would have happened. )