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She didn’t dare hope.
Hope was dangerous, fuel to the fire she thought had long been extinguished, the blood pumping through her foolish heart.
Even when he left, knowing the way things had ended between them, the flame in her chest never quite flickered out of existence.
So she didn’t dare hope.
Instead, she convinced herself that he would never come back. She had accepted it.
He proved her wrong.
Their moment of reunion was short-lived.
Their eyes locked and they stilled, the rest of the world fading away. They scanned one another. Looking for what, she didn’t know. Maybe to see what the lost years gave them.
He looked a little more worn, a little more rough-hewn. But his solid presence was the same, his quiet demeanor just as she remembered. The weight of his gaze felt no different, and still made her heart thud against her sternum.
She wanted to reach out to him. Feel his bicep beneath her hand, know for certain that he was whole and alive in front of her. Ask all the questions running through her mind.
Instead, she took a breath and murmured, “I’ll get the barn ready.”
She stepped away.
She could feel his eyes on her back.
He wants to see her.
Rather, he wants her to see him.
Ask her if they can stay. If he can stay.
Feel her hands against his helmet again. Let her slip it off this time.
If she wants what he wants, too.
He knows it can’t be that simple. It’s been too long. Surely, the years between then and now won’t allow them to pick up where they left off.
So he wants instead.
He lingers outside the familiar barn, watching Omera prepare his cot with deft hands. When she finishes, she turns to him, a smile on her face. He takes that as his cue to enter, placing his belongings on the table.
“It’s as if I never left,” he comments, before immediately regretting it. Was it too soon? Or was he too late?
Something flashes across her eyes, but her smile never wavers, reassuring.
“It’s all yours,” she says. He thinks he catches something in her voice, but he can’t place it.
“Thank you,” he tells her. She nods.
He looks at her, taking in the streaks of grey through her hair and the crows feet in the corners of her eyes. He has so much he wants to say to her. He opens his mouth to try, but It collects into a lump at the back of his throat, and nothing comes out at all.
Someone calls Omera’s name, and she dismisses herself. The room goes cold.
He finds her the next day, after their work is complete. The sun had vanished beneath the treeline, threatening to dip below the horizon and pitch the world into darkness.
His hand latches around her wrist, loose but earnest.
“Would you walk with me?” He asks.
The corner of her mouth curls up. “Of course.”
They fall in step together as they follow a trail into the woods, nothing but the soft, golden touch of the setting sun to light their path.
Her elbow brushes against his arm. The touch is not quite jolting but he inhales as warmth spreads through him.
She lifts her hand, looping it with his arm, gentle and deliberate. He swallows, the action stirring up his heart, her fingers perfectly placed in the crook of his arm. It’s a kind gesture and he relaxes, leaning into her touch, her orbit. He doesn’t catch her smile.
They engage in small talk, speaking of their children, as they had always circled back to. It was simple and familiar. Their safe topic to ignore the tension between them, even now.
He wants to break it.
She’s already ahead of him.
“How long are you staying?” She asks. He takes a moment to collect his thoughts.
“How long can we stay?” He glances at her, tilting his helmet.
She looks at him, a slight crease between her brows.
“You can stay for as long as you need,” she answers, her voice resolute. It makes the corner of his mouth twitch upwards.
“And beyond that?” He ventures, keeping his voice even and light. An attempt at hiding something akin to hope.
She pauses, considering.
“If you want to,” she settles on.
The soil is soft beneath their feet, the trees cutting the sun’s rays into splinters across the ground. He watches as some land on Omera, her skin turning into gold at the contact, and he can’t help but think that she is as beautiful as he remembers her. Even moreso.
He takes a breath.
“I stopped looking for his people,” he says, letting the thought settle between them. “He decided that I was enough.”
The thought of his child makes him smile, fond and loving.
Sorgan couldn’t be more perfect for him.
“You agreed,” she concludes. He nods.
“He… chose me,” he continues, his voice having gone gentle with affection. “To be his home. It scared me, at the time. It made me realize that I haven’t known a home in a long time.”
Wouldn’t that be nice?
Omera understands, squeezing his arm. He stops walking, turning his body towards her, taking her hands in his. Her dark eyes search his visor, and he wants nothing more than to rip off his helmet right then and there.
He inhales, feels the solid warmth of her hands in his.
“Sorgan is not my home,” he murmurs.
“But it could be,” she finishes, a small smile on her face, something sparkling and good behind her eyes.
“Yes.”
You could be, too.
Then, he takes her hands and places them against his helmet, an echo of a memory long since ingrained into his mind.
Her eyes never leave him, but her fingers are hesitant. He nods.
She removes his helmet.