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It all comes rushing back at once. Slamming into his chest like his heart’s been violently crammed back into place.
She’s taller now, and he’s shorter, but her eyes are the same, and he still wears his hair spiked up with too much product like he did the first time around and she drops her pen and it rolls across the ground and his chair almost tips he rises from it so fast, and they meet his eyes and another wave of it hits him, another life, another time around he left them waiting just like this, for him, but he never found them, or they never found him, his heart, his heart shaking itself apart in his chest, his heart stubbornly spilling his blood out, his heart, oh god.
Oh god.
It feels like he shatters when they reach him and put their arms around him, feels like he bursts into little scraps of confetti — oh god — or flower petals — oh god — or all the little pieces of a stained glass window.
“Wolfwood,” Vash says.
“You’re here,” Meryl says.
“Oh god,” Wolfwood says, and he can’t tell if he’s the first one to dissolve into tears or the last.