Oh, thank frick. I was starting to think you were an impostor. A really, really bad one. One who'd never seen the real Rhys. Or even a photograph. A child's drawing, at best.
[ She might be covering up genuine relief. Maybe. Just a bit. THIS IS STILL VERY, VERY WEIRD. ]
2!
[ It's weird looking at him. Like, really weird. Did he hire a stylist? Is that an actual thing he actually did?? ]
Please tell me your socks are still goofy.
[ n-not that she misses the fashion dumpster fire or anything ]
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[ He pulls up a pantleg -- boom, fire engine, Atlas red with zigzagged stripes. ]
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[ She might be covering up genuine relief. Maybe. Just a bit. THIS IS STILL VERY, VERY WEIRD. ]
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...heh.
...sorry, bad joke. It's, u-uh. It's definitely me.
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[ LIKE RHYS HIMSELF ]
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[ Rhys combs his fingers through the gelled locks. ]
At... least it's not a skunk stripe?
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[ Ohhhhhhgod it's been years. He must barely remember her tHIS IS SORT OF EMBARRASSING NOW ]
So - so how are, uh, things? Back. Back there.
[ AaAAAwwWWwwWKKkKKKKSSSSSS ]
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You brat.
[ And he ruffles her hair. ]
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[ The sensible one who is trying her best to counter-ruffle. YURI HANDS, GOOOOOO ]
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[ Ruffle turns inTO A NOOGIE GET REKT ]
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[ THIS IS THE WORST, WHY MUST SHE BE SO VIGOROUSLY OWNED ]
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[ but
he does, eventually
settling into a gentle hug with slightly misty eyes ]
Ever.
[ He didn't miss her until he got back here, but then -- intense. All at once. Hurting.
She's here, now. ]
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[ TOTALLY SUPER SERIOUS HERE. NOT TRYING TO BREAK THE TENSION AT ALL.
Rhys gets cuddled back, because of fucking course he does. It may not have been as long for her, but it's still Rhys, gosh. ]