It's a hope some part of her is similarly familiar with, and no small part of why everything feels so weighty. That they're here is a struggle. It guarantees as much going forward as well. But they're far from alone, and both can claim at least one remaining pillar in each other. Which is something.

The hug is a surprise - there's an exhale too soft to be even a sigh - but far be it from her to refuse such a gesture. Pulling her in is as easy as ever, no resistance whatsoever. He's big and solid and warm even now and she'd sooner fade to nothing than fight it. Much as she wants to contribute she thinks of his limits; her arms raise, but extend no further than his sides. Open palms to his ribs, thumbs skimming semicircles into his shirt. Face tucking against his shoulder - it's only that first damp spot pressing into her cheek that makes her aware she's crying, herself.

They're happy tears, or happy enough.

"I love you," she repeats, for lack of anything better or more true to say, "You're my favorite person in the universe. All of this was worth it if just for this."