[She nods, voice still catching in her throat. She believes that he hasn't slept in a week; it shows in the darkness around his eyes, the trace of stubble. The ring's gleam is incongruous, and it draws her eye for more than one reason. Maybe she's just practiced at this, separating the face from the man; maybe it's easier to remember he isn't who he is because he's falling apart. If she hadn't changed her hair, perhaps it would be easier for him.
But he is still who he is, and if anything one learns in the City can be believed, he's her husband. Or will be; and to an extent there isn't a great difference. It still hurts, now, to see him this way, and she leans forward slowly, cautiously, to embrace him if he'll let her. He looks like he needs a shoulder to lean on. She'd offer his younger self the same, even now.]
[once fate put us in the same room, when you knew not of me nor I of you]
But he is still who he is, and if anything one learns in the City can be believed, he's her husband. Or will be; and to an extent there isn't a great difference. It still hurts, now, to see him this way, and she leans forward slowly, cautiously, to embrace him if he'll let her. He looks like he needs a shoulder to lean on. She'd offer his younger self the same, even now.]