It does feel that way—as if something that was in pieces has begun to hold together, veined with gold. A voice Magpie can't hear sounds elsewhere: Seeker, rank 9. And it's resumed its upright position....
He doesn't drag the moment out. Instead, he squeezes, firmer than his usual handshake but not much more so. Falcon's hand feels almost like Crow's, the same soft sense of give with a suggestion of bones beneath; perhaps a bit more rigid, but it's hard to tell. Then he lets go, folding his hands back on his knees, in their gloves.
"If you wanted," he murmurs, across the space between them that feels so much less wide than it did, "I'd be glad to try again. To rebuild what we had. I—" Fuck. He really is going to blush. "I missed you, too. I was concerned for you."
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He doesn't drag the moment out. Instead, he squeezes, firmer than his usual handshake but not much more so. Falcon's hand feels almost like Crow's, the same soft sense of give with a suggestion of bones beneath; perhaps a bit more rigid, but it's hard to tell. Then he lets go, folding his hands back on his knees, in their gloves.
"If you wanted," he murmurs, across the space between them that feels so much less wide than it did, "I'd be glad to try again. To rebuild what we had. I—" Fuck. He really is going to blush. "I missed you, too. I was concerned for you."