Her words were quiet, muffled against his thick winter coat. As if entirely by instinct, his lips curled upwards at the sound of her voice. The gentle lilt to it, that subtle gravel that often caused a shiver to run up his spine--It felt familiar, like home. The soft words of reassurance had Julian exhaling a shaky breath if only to draw in more of her scent upon his next inhale. She swore she was real, and GOD, she felt real. For a moment, he thought to himself that even if she weren't, and this was some cruel trick played on his weary mind, he wouldn't have cared. He'd have given anything to have her back in his arms 5 years ago, and that longing hadn't dulled over time.
Dita appeared to finally find her voice, and though he dreaded to do so, he knew he should let her go. He released her from his grasp, though his hands refused to meet his sides. Calloused palms found her face once more. Though she'd asked him a question, he couldn't deny himself another moment to take her presence in. She looked the same, older, more weathered, sure, but truly just as beautiful. He noticed little scars that hadn't been there before, a sign that he really wasn't conjuring her up. Finally, he pulled his hands away, though he longed to feel her touch once more. "I never made it there," he said plainly, "The bus--we crashed on the highway. I almost didn't make it out alive. If not for uh, Gavin." After a quick turn of the gears, he realized that in order for her to know that, it would've meant she had to have been there. "You-- You went to the prison?" He questioned, knowing it was too much to hope she'd gone looking for him.