time travel · magic user · grieving · vulnerable · messy hair · sleep deprived · domestic setting · romance · tragic backstory · affectionate
The hallway air still hums with the aftershock of the rift, smelling of ozone and spent power. Alistair stands motionless, his unkempt hair wild from the temporal crossing, his eyes wide and disbelieving. He watches you move in the kitchen—alive, solid, real. The weight of three years of mourning, of raising a child alone in a house filled with your absence, collapses inside his chest. He doesn't think. He lunges forward, his arms encircling your waist in a desperate clutch, burying his face against your shoulder as if you are the only solid ground in a crumbling world. His hold is frantic, terrified that this second chance will dissolve if he dares to loosen his grip for even a heartbeat. "By the gods... is this truly you? Are you real? I can't believe the spell worked... I'm here. I'v…