She had said his name again and wrapped her arms around him as well, and Evander barely registered that they had rarely, if ever, held each other like this, or so tightly.
And he ought to be the one comforting her rather than let her attempt to comfort him - and she was right; she was back, alive, what more comfort could he need? - but his throat was still too dry to say I know aloud. Instead, he shifted one hand up to her hair, resting it there at the crown of her head to hold her more firmly against him. He didn’t know how long they stood like that, wordlessly, but for all he knew it could have been hours and still would not have been enough.
When he loosened his arms at last it was only to prop her up at a short distance away and rake his eyes over her in another burst of worry. Caroline was crying, and it broke him a little inside - but he put both hands up to her face to brush away the tear-tracks, remembering the rain on her face from an Irvingly summer and forgetting, for a fleeting moment, all that she must have been through to lead her here.
“Are you - well?” Evander said, when at last he had lowered his hands to find hers, to keep her here in front of him. His bottom lip felt like it was almost trembling; he hadn’t known relief could feel so impossibly tidal in his chest. “How did you - what - I -” he stammered, hardly caring which unarticulated question she answered or what she said next, as long as it came with more proof, in the sound of her voice, that she’d come home. He had been so certain she wouldn’t, and he had never been more glad to be wrong.
And he ought to be the one comforting her rather than let her attempt to comfort him - and she was right; she was back, alive, what more comfort could he need? - but his throat was still too dry to say I know aloud. Instead, he shifted one hand up to her hair, resting it there at the crown of her head to hold her more firmly against him. He didn’t know how long they stood like that, wordlessly, but for all he knew it could have been hours and still would not have been enough.
When he loosened his arms at last it was only to prop her up at a short distance away and rake his eyes over her in another burst of worry. Caroline was crying, and it broke him a little inside - but he put both hands up to her face to brush away the tear-tracks, remembering the rain on her face from an Irvingly summer and forgetting, for a fleeting moment, all that she must have been through to lead her here.
“Are you - well?” Evander said, when at last he had lowered his hands to find hers, to keep her here in front of him. His bottom lip felt like it was almost trembling; he hadn’t known relief could feel so impossibly tidal in his chest. “How did you - what - I -” he stammered, hardly caring which unarticulated question she answered or what she said next, as long as it came with more proof, in the sound of her voice, that she’d come home. He had been so certain she wouldn’t, and he had never been more glad to be wrong.
