#always!!!!

you know what I find so. vomitingly insane.

these two moments. this moment (which I don’t think I ever analyzed or posted WHOOPS maybe some day). this whole snippet of Joel taking his coat off and Ellie’s hand lingering on his arm and the way she looks at him. How she stares at him in this fashion of unbelief and thankfulness and love. She put a knife in his hands and told her to kill anyone who made it down there. He did. She told him to wake up. He did. And he found her just when she needed him. She’s not expecting it because he’s supposed to be in that basement, but he’s here.

And she takes him in as fully as she can. Staring at him, the whole time. Never blinking, not once. Her hand stays on his arm til he shuffles his coat off, afraid he’ll somehow disappear if she cannot immediately feel him under her fingertips. She watches him, the ghost of a smile on her lips because he’s there. He’s alive and he’s found her. Her comforting presence is right in front of her, alive and breathing. Her adrenaline still pumping from what transpired in that restaurant. Her eyes have a glimmer of light and love in them watching him.

And he watches her just as intently, studying what exactly she looks like. Never blinking, scanning her face of the blood and and her sweater, a mix of confusion, anger, and concern. How much has he missed? What happened? Why does she have blood on her face? Why did she cling to me in such a way? Why is she crying so hard? There’s so many questions, but they don’t have the time to talk. Joel knows she can’t, and he doesn’t push. He simply gives her the clothes off his back to keep her warm.

And then this.

Her expression, mainly. Void of… anything. She’s exhausted. She’s traumatized. She’s processing, or trying to. She is fighting for her life. Her mind is running rampant of everything, trying to catch up with the last few weeks.

And I think what goes along with that is that she’s with Joel now. She can finally, finally, let herself feel. She can stop fighting for her life for a second.

She’s not just near him or walking next to him. She’s held against him. The man she’s found plenty of protection and care in from a distance up until this point is holding her against his side, helping her walk. He’s wrapped her up in his coat and is trying to pull it around her more. His head is against hers, no indication of letting her go. His warmth and heartbeat and breath are right beside her, letting her know he’s there. That she’s safe now.

And she lets it all happen. She really can’t protest or make an effort to try anything else because she’s exhausted. She’s so tired and she’s hurt and confused and broken.