She comes home a few hours later, dropping her dark glasses in the same door side alcove as Carlisle's medical bag and scarf, and follows the music in while peeling a jacket off.
"I didn't know you liked," Esme started, rounding the corner, only to find herself bereft of anything but an Oh.
Esme wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean. It was tripping on the tails of ghosts just to remember her past, and she had little in it she wanted to remember. The face of her son, maybe, but nothing from the years around it.
"You're home now." She offered it gently, only thinking about the fact they'd been worried about him.
He came back for two people he neither knew how to live without nor how to not need or want to live with. Who did not need or want his presence in the same ways. Whose very presence this close was discomforting enough to leave him clinging to a piano he hadn't remembered until their absence.
"I didn't know you liked," Esme started, rounding the corner, only to find herself bereft of anything but an Oh.
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"You're home now." She offered it gently, only thinking about the fact they'd been worried about him.
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He came back for two people he neither knew how to live without nor how to not need or want to live with. Who did not need or want his presence in the same ways. Whose very presence this close was discomforting enough to leave him clinging to a piano he hadn't remembered until their absence.
Still, she meant well. Esme always meant well.
It was a large part of missing her presence.
Slowly, he nodded, "I supposed I am."
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