( wanda expects to land on her hands and knees, earn herself some scrapes for her exhausted clumsiness, and maybe whiplash from the strain of the tumble. what she does not expect is to be effectively rescued, even if it happening at all is coincidentalβhe just happened to be here at the bottom of the stairs at the right place and time.
the last time wanda had been held like this, strong arms wrapped around her back, safely against a warm chest, had been with pietro. it feels forever ago, but it's barely been more than two years, and that is two years too many. there's the smell of nicotine vaguely on the shirt of her savior, but it's the entirety of this that takes her back to think of her brother and how much she misses him, how much she misses being held like this.
being in complete darkness like this, but for the reflection of lights in the distance, of the hospital a few streets away, of the moon shining down its pale light, helps wanda keep this illusion for a bit longer.
until he speaks, and it's definitely not pietro's voice.
wanda swallows hard, her throat feeling dry, and nods. )
βyeah, ( uhm ) sorry. Thanks.
( she peels herself away, hands curved lightly against his arms, as she catches her balance proper. she is reticent to speak much, mostly because she's not entirely the most talkative person around, but because she hates how strained her voice sounds.
(those waves again, crashing against her, making her feel like she's drowning; sanji misses the sea, and yet wanda can't seem to escape her unending ocean of grief, even here.) )
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the last time wanda had been held like this, strong arms wrapped around her back, safely against a warm chest, had been with pietro. it feels forever ago, but it's barely been more than two years, and that is two years too many. there's the smell of nicotine vaguely on the shirt of her savior, but it's the entirety of this that takes her back to think of her brother and how much she misses him, how much she misses being held like this.
being in complete darkness like this, but for the reflection of lights in the distance, of the hospital a few streets away, of the moon shining down its pale light, helps wanda keep this illusion for a bit longer.
until he speaks, and it's definitely not pietro's voice.
wanda swallows hard, her throat feeling dry, and nods. )
βyeah, ( uhm ) sorry. Thanks.
( she peels herself away, hands curved lightly against his arms, as she catches her balance proper. she is reticent to speak much, mostly because she's not entirely the most talkative person around, but because she hates how strained her voice sounds.
(those waves again, crashing against her, making her feel like she's drowning; sanji misses the sea, and yet wanda can't seem to escape her unending ocean of grief, even here.) )