I couldn't get in contact with you. [It's easier to force out than 'I was afraid,' or 'I thought you were dead.' Because those are much truer statements, and he doesn't want to feel the shape of them in his throat. He holds her tight for a long, silent moment, face tucked against the side of her head, nose buried in clean, damp hair. He inhales the scent of her soap, of her, and only then does he realize what he must smell like.
Even then, it's hard to coax himself to let go, like if he pulls back too far she'll evaporate again. He grimaces.]
no subject
Even then, it's hard to coax himself to let go, like if he pulls back too far she'll evaporate again. He grimaces.]
I'm rank. Sorry.