[ The hardest part is staying put. She can sense him long before she can see him, and if Khaji is willing to risk running scans, she knows he's in the same position — knowing they're so close, but having to move slowly, or not at all.
She feels too weak on her feet to push away from her loitering place when he calls her name, but she sinks into the embrace with a weariness and a longing that seem far too great for the short time they've been separated. He'll feel the tremble of her shoulders, but he won't mistake it for the cold. He'll only have had a brief moment to see her face, and the disguise of it: her hair wrapped up in a scarf made to look like a hood, the color hidden from view; the signature red eye patch gone, replaced with a plain white medical patch, as though it were only some temporary injury; even her eyebrows had been darkened with mascara, made black — to better blend in with the look of ordinary girls.
Her hands ball into fists in the material of his coat; she holds on too tightly, the same as him, afraid they might be separated again if they don't. She's so glad he's here. Without him, without the steady comfort of his heart beside hers, she wouldn't know what to believe. Wouldn't know where to start, where to look — how to know what's still real. ]
It isn't fair. It isn't right. [ The words are quiet, but there's a fierceness to them, an anguish and an injustice that the coat can't muffle. ] It wasn't like this.
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She feels too weak on her feet to push away from her loitering place when he calls her name, but she sinks into the embrace with a weariness and a longing that seem far too great for the short time they've been separated. He'll feel the tremble of her shoulders, but he won't mistake it for the cold. He'll only have had a brief moment to see her face, and the disguise of it: her hair wrapped up in a scarf made to look like a hood, the color hidden from view; the signature red eye patch gone, replaced with a plain white medical patch, as though it were only some temporary injury; even her eyebrows had been darkened with mascara, made black — to better blend in with the look of ordinary girls.
Her hands ball into fists in the material of his coat; she holds on too tightly, the same as him, afraid they might be separated again if they don't. She's so glad he's here. Without him, without the steady comfort of his heart beside hers, she wouldn't know what to believe. Wouldn't know where to start, where to look — how to know what's still real. ]
It isn't fair. It isn't right. [ The words are quiet, but there's a fierceness to them, an anguish and an injustice that the coat can't muffle. ] It wasn't like this.