Edric's hands fell to her hips as she readjusted her position and his eyes met hers as she pulled back to look at him. She looked frail—frailer than him even. Her hair was darker or her skin was paler (and by the laws of common sense, it was probably the latter); there were dark circles under her eyes; and there was a glossy look to her eyes that suggested that she'd been crying. He gently rubbed his hands up and down her arms, hiking up the sleeves of her nightdress as far as they would go. Merlin, even in her distressed state, she was a sure sight for sore eyes.

"When the Ministry found us, I thought it was still July 3rd. July 4th at the latest," he insisted, letting his arms drop around her waist once more. "I was tired, sure, but not 'I haven't slept for a month'-tired," he breathed, his words followed by a sleepy chuckle. His gaze flickered down to her lips and then back to her eyes, a subtle request for permission, before he pulled her closer to kiss her for the first time in what felt like forever.

He kissed her softly, sweetly; it wasn't like the last kisses they'd shared before he'd departed. It wasn't a kiss of desperation, nor did anything about it suggest it was about to turn to desperation. He merely held her against him, taking in her scent, the feeling of her lips, her presence—a good reminder that he was safe at home.

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