She’s laying in his arms, where she’s always been meant to be, and he already feels better. Feels more like himself than he has in days – in weeks, maybe even months. More like himself than he has since he first set foot off the Isle and stumbled into the strange and frustrating world of this clean, glitzy school filled with clean, good kids who he couldn’t really seem to figure out, even when he actually tried, not that he tried all that much when everything about their alleged freedom felt more confining, more restricting, more fragile and impermanent than their prison on the Isle ever had.
She’s laying in his arms, and it’s just the two of them, like it had always been before; like it was always supposed to be. Him and Uma, tangled together in the wreck they’d made of his bed, the warmth of her body and the soft silk of her skin against him as wondrous and holy as a miracle and as close as he’s ever like to get to something sacred and profound. Tangled together and caught up in each other, finally holding her again after all this time – touching her, kissing her and stroking her and fucking her and loving her like he’d been longing to do for months now, to the point where he was half mad from wanting her - felt like coming home off the sea after being lost in the storm, and for the first time in what felt like years he can breathe again.
“I know,” he murmurs, kissing her softly, trailing his fingers slowly down her arm, unable to stop touching her, each gentle caress a reminder to himself that he’d found her again – that he’d never actually lost her like he thought he might have, like he’d feared.
“But that’s fine by me, love. You’re all I’ve ever needed, anyway.”