Blink-and-you'd-miss-it deja-vu, the sliding into place of what-had-been alongside what-wasn't and what-wouldn't; Em an alignment of hands and wild curls and loose-swinging legs and a mug in hand -- empty, that wasn't picture-perfect but Gryff glancing back from rifling through cupboards (and finding nothing but moldy teabags and half a packet of stale biscuits secreted away from the masses for midnight wanderings all his own) caught sight of Haven serenely standing back and leaving the both of them where they were. All broken pieces and jagged edges and jigsaw puzzle lost in the time taken to complete it.
The doors swung closed, carefully. Gryff put hips against countertop, leaned uncomfortably as over-large man in over-small kitchen might and cupped tea in hand as though it weren't boiling, bleeding heat through to calloused palm. 'What about you' and old answer surged forth, 'what about me?' -- what was there to be, with no one to take the yoke back and give him himself to consider. It was a time of going aways, of folded up acquaintances and almost-friendships, of a sister who was blond efficiency and his own semi-smile gone sharp and wry at corners, 'goodbye' said before anything of substance did. Catherine had swept on out and in her wake was Dominic -- who next?
"Find a way to make it work," Gryff said heavily, as hard as plans remade and reknit and go-rounds and battles re-picked-up from where they'd been left for another. "Always do." A hard-edged smile, that hammered thing that came when needed rather than when best summoned.