𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕

[aberratic]

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[aberratic]

"I see," she murmurs, even though she doesn't at all, "that makes sense," even though it doesn't. It could make sense, it will make sense, when she's had a night to sleep on it—but right now it feels as if her mind is a wagon wheel stuck in a muddy rut, trying to push forward yet getting dragged back into the muck with every shove. Vanya is alive. Less than a minute ago, he was dead. Only one of these things can be true.

He hasn't disappeared, or warped into a demon. He sounds like himself. Has the same warm eyes, the same dear hands.

Something doesn't have to make sense to be true.

Ennaris exhales a shuddering breath and steps away from his hand—forward, not back. She wraps her arm around his torso in a clinging embrace, curling her fist into the back of his shirt. With her ear pressed to his chest, she can hear the steady beat of his heart, feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. Her throat works, thick with tears for the second time tonight. There's so much she should say—is Pamplemousse alright, is he alright, who else has he told that he's back, Gwenaëlle should know—but all that she can find the words for is

"I missed you, I missed you, Vanya—"

[wearyallalone]

He immediately wraps her in his arms without hesitation. "It's alright," he murmurs into her hair. "It's alright, I'm here now." He had missed her too, of course, but he hadn't had any reason to fear she was gone. (Or, at least, any more than one always did with rifters. It's a thought to put away for the present.)

He gives her a few moments before suggesting: "Why don't we sit down?" Not an indication that he plans to separate from her, but perhaps an acknowledgement that this might be a long enough reunion that later she might be glad to be having it somewhere other than the doorway of her office. And he is arriving from what must have been an extremely long walk, for what it's worth.

[aberratic]

Despite that she nods, despite that she can very clearly see the sense in moving this reunion out of the hallway... It still takes a long moment for Ennaris to release Vanya. Even when she does, she doesn't let him go entirely, trailing her hand along his arm, elbow to wrist, unwilling to let go just yet.

"Of course, you must be so tired," she says, "Come into the office, I have—well. There's a seat, anyway."

Her hand finally falls away from his wrist long enough to open the door to the office, but she reaches back for him once inside, as though he might have somehow disappeared in the time they weren't touching.

The Archives-Special Acquisitions office is in a state of what might generously be called "organized chaos", at least on her side—the desk she leads him to is piled high with paperwork, with only a small space in front of the seat left clear for working. A plate of food sits, untouched, on top of one of the piles. Behind the desk is a threadbare chaise, a blanket draped over it, and she encourages Vanya to sit on it.

"Are you alright?" she asks, brushing her thumb over his knuckles, "are you hungry? I have," she says, turning to look at the desk, "I got dinner today, I can warm it, it'll be—but it hasn't gone off, it's just been a couple hours—"