luna knows his tells, just as well as he knows hers, and she hates seeing him like this. it’s not so much that whatever is on his mind is clearly upsetting, but rather the sharp reminder that they spent so long apart. she’s not so self absorbed to have assumed that she’s the only one that endured hardships during those years, but it’s the confirmation that clearly nothing simple has him here at gallagher with her that makes her heart ache. she reaches across the table to take one of his hands, holding it gently but firmly in both of hers. “there’s still so much we have to talk about,” she finally says, voice soft, not intending to start a private conversation here, but she won’t skip it over, either. “there are things i still have to tell you, too. and none of them are easy things so i never want to talk about it because it’s so much easier to focus on being together again than think about the years we spent apart.” and it was so much worse for him, he can never convince her otherwise, because luna spent her years of longing to see him knowing he was at least out there somewhere. to frank, she’d been gone forever. she thinks it was cruel of her sometimes to interrupt his grieving process, like maybe he should’ve been allowed to just heal. but the way he looks at her, she knows he’d take her being alive over any amount of pain any day, and she’s selfish enough to insert herself back into his life because she fits so well. “but like you said, we have so much time.” her heart still aches, but because it’s too full now, she loves him so much. “to talk about the hard things and to support each other and to figure out what we’re doing.” luna lets out a laugh, hating that she has to remind herself sometimes that she really is young, she isn’t carrying decades on her heart and in her soul like it feels sometimes. “keep reminding me of that, it’s a little dramatic how often i forget.”
his hand finds hers in a matter of seconds, the comfort of being held however minute, enough for him to think straight. to listen to her instead of being wrapped up in playing a mental, meticulous game of what he’s going to say, editing every future sentence in his head like it’s a first draft, scared that if he gets it wrong he might lose her, even though rationally, he knows she’s not going to leave. he forgets all of that, in favour of her, in favour of being wrapped up in her, thinking it near sacrilege to miss anything she has to say in favour of his own neurotic, self-concerned thoughts. and it’s simple, and true — like most things are at their core. ‘ and we will talk about everything. promise. ’ he doesn’t want to let go of her hand but his pinky circles gently around her knuckle, a makeshift pinky swear. by now it’s clear that neither of them are new to hardship, but they’re out of practice with sharing it with one another. but he thinks half of love is loving in spite of and loving through. or he thinks so, it’s clear now t hat he’s never been in love until now, going through a constant realization of oh, this is what being in love is like, this is what love is. even now, especially now, he feels grateful, to be able to get to look at her look at him, even if it’s flecked with concern. he nods, believes her, and it’s something of a spell, her ability to cut through an otherwise deep-seated worry, and get him to laugh too. ‘ it’s practically a rite of passage to not know what the fuck you’re doing in your twenties i think. ’ another laugh brackets the sentiment, it is funny to think, that even without the spies and staged ( one the verb, the other an adjective ) deaths, everyone deals with twenty-one, they’re just dealing with twenty-one and then some. ‘ feel like before we know it we’ll be all wrinkly, sitting in rocking chairs on a porch somewhere. ’ secretly he can’t wait to get old, with cat in his lap because he’s going to live forever, falling asleep in the sun with luna by his side.
