[ It's him. It's him, and as her mind chants this rather incessantly, Noire focuses as best as she can on the face in front of her, on the steadily dampening mass of blue hair, and it's a simple thing really, but it sinks in-- he's said her name again, but it's different, and she thinks it's recognition on a level deeper than allies.
Her hand is shaking when it settles over his, and her fingers curl over the top as she leans into the curve of his palm and takes a long, shuddering breath. ]
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Her hand is shaking when it settles over his, and her fingers curl over the top as she leans into the curve of his palm and takes a long, shuddering breath. ]
Gods, you're really here, aren't you?