( Â Â Â * Â spoken by : Â Â carol danvers:
       i don’t quite know what to say, but i’m here in your doorway.
three weeks, four days, eleven hours.    he’s felt every moment of absence like a weight in his bones, heavy and shattering, the worry becoming ashes on the tongue. twice, he’d stilled with his hand on the door, the beginning leading him to forgetting that she’s out of reach, off world. he’d take a mission in the midst, sought out any distraction, the promise of motion that settles nerves like live - wires in his chest. to be home before her, to have bloodied scrapes drying before she returns, almost enough to drive a man insane, to force him to question the nature of the way she has planted herself at the base of his spine, the way he cannot think for the thought that they’re three weeks, four days, and eleven hours without a word.
and then she’s there in the door, and the worry doesn’t subside, it just grounds itself, settles down when she becomes something physical, something he can take care of. the words sink into his skin, become tangible as he wraps his arms around her, speaks without words; there is always a here to come back to, always his body waiting to warm her. he knows what it is when the mission takes over, when it slips more than bruises into the skin, when it becomes impossible to unpick it from the cartilage.      ❛  it’s okay, you’re always welcome here. i want you here.  ❜
