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Gangle is real in Zooble's arms.
She's no longer composed of ribbons, without a mask that's stuck to her face like glue. Her emotions are capable of being conveyed through other means, and—
And she's warm.
Like, genuine warmth. Not that fake stuff they'd felt back in the circus — the stuff that'd stuck to their skin and practically suffocated them. No, this is real.
..Holy shit.
Gangle was real.
The clench of their hands stiffen somewhat, pulling her in closer through her shoulder blades. They don't want that warmth to dissipate. They're not sure they'll ever be ready to let go.
Moments pass as they just stand there, cradling one another. Neither of their hands even move, stricken with such surprise that if they were to shift even an inch then they're pretty sure they'd both crumble into pieces.
The wind hits Gangle's dress and tousles it, brushing it against the cargo pants that clad Zooble's legs. Their difference in attire is kinda funny, with Gangle sporting a milkmaid style, floral dress and a gentle cardigan, whilst Zooble takes on a hefty sweater combined with some platformed boots. They must have gotten into the simulation at very different times of the year.
Zooble's head nudges closer into the crook of her neck, their short tufts of hair brushing against her exposed collarbone, until they suddenly stop. In one swell movement, they flick their gaze up to properly examine Gangle in her full beauty, and their heart begins to race.
She flicks her head to one side, those ebony strands of hair free from her ponytail colliding with the spots on her skin, and she purses her lips. Her hands grow fidgety, like she's not quite sure what she wants to do with them, until they're smoothly shoved into large pockets — a rarity on women's clothing like that.
"H-Hi," she says, stammering on her words. Nothing new there, huh?
But the only thing that Zooble can focus on is the fact that those words of hers aren't accompanied by the falling of her tears, or even the cracking of her mask. They like that. A lot more than they'd anticipated.
"Hey," they reply. Their voice sounds different — more clear, with a slight raspier edge. They have to stop them from raising their fingers to their lips in alignment with their movements. They hadn't had lips in a good while.
Their gaze scans across Gangle's form, taking her in in entirety. It's a difficult feat, being so different from her usual appearance and stance, but they're sure it's one they're going to enjoy no less.
After all, it'll take a little longer than just this moment.
Their eyes catch upon something familiar, and their eyebrow quirks upwards.
"Oh, you—" Before their sentence is even fully formed, Zooble's eyes fly up towards the red ribbons flowing throughout Gangle's braid. "You've got those here too, huh?"
"O-Oh!" Gangle exclaims, tucking it gracefully behind her ear. She seems a little surprised by it, too. Like she'd forgotten it was even there. "Yeah.."
Zooble chuckles, watching as the ribbon disobeys her command. Not long after it had settled back into place, it flies out again. The rebellious streak feels unusually out of character for her.
Her brown eyes glance towards the ribbon as it flies through the wind, and she ruts as her face falls. This would probably be the moment in which her mask would break, but she instead picks herself back up, peeking upwards at Zooble's full height.
"Y'know," she begins to mutter. "You're kinda similar, too."
".. Yeah?"
"Y-Yeah," Gangle stammers. "Like, uhm— Your hair. It's pink, with that streak of black and white."
".. I guess it is, huh?"
"And your tattoos are like.. They're all yellow and orange and blue, and you just—"
".. And I just..?"
"Well, I-I don't know," Gangle sighs, deflated now that she's rattled off her list. "You're still zooble."
"..I am," Zooble returns.
It's kinda weird, saying it out loud. Like admitting everything that happened wasn't just some kind of bad dream. It'd be easy to write it off as such, with the insanity of everything that'd happened there.
"It's nice," Gangle gleams, before faltering suddenly. ".. Sorry, that's uh.. That's silly, huh?"
"No, no, it's—" Their hands move upwards, cupping the soft skin of Gangle's cheeks. They want to say it's okay, but they just — like, all the words just die when Gangle's skin meshes beneath their fingers. So instead, they tilt their head downwards to match her height and press their forehead into hers. "I'm glad we made it."
And Gangle smiles, small but sweet. It eerily reminds Zooble of that expression she used to make back in the circus — y'know the one? It looked a little bit like that silly, typed out face. The ':3'. Their eyes soften, their cheeks beginning to hurt as their smile expands into something silly.
"Me too," Gangle affirms.
For a moment, it's a little like everything settles. The calm that follows the storm — the relief after a wave of panic.
"So, uh.." Zooble continues their conversation. There's a lot to say, with seemingly such little time. They're yet to realise that the passage of time out here isn't as fast as it'd felt back there. "You wanna go somewhere from here?"
".. Yeah," Gangle agrees. "Home."
Zooble chuckles. "Could've guessed."
A second or two of silence.
A beat, emphasised by the sway of the wind.
Gangle's response doesn't stop there.
".. Do you wanna come?"
And so many things had caught Zooble off-guard that afternoon. The realisation of their own, twisted reality — the feeling of having control over what is them. The way Gangle had felt in their palms; warm and gentle, and yet—
None of it had quite prepared them for a question like that.
".. Huh?" They mutter out as a reply, still not quite believing.
It wasn't like they'd made any plans on where they wanted to go. They barely remembered where they used to live, let alone how or with who they wanted to live. If anything, this was their saving grace.
"W-Well, I just—" Gangle scrambles to reply. Those hands of hers are awfully shaky — just like her ribbons used to be. "It'd be nice. To have some company, I guess."
.. Oh, right. They'd spoken about this.
She'd told them that she relishes in company — that it's only when she's alone that those thoughts of hers begin to set in. She says it's better when there's someone else around; it leaves less room for them to wiggle in her mind.
Zooble reaches for her hand, intertwining her fingers with their own. That's not something they'd been able to do before.
"Then yeah, I'll come," they say. Because what is there to lose?
The silence that follows as a pair of footsteps shuffle out into the distance is nothing less than comfortable. It's warm and it's bright, and most of all, it's hopeful.