"If this is a lie —"
Trembling, with clenched fists Danny stood in the middle of the living room. He said the words to the room at large, not able to address the silent shape looming in the doorway.
Despite standing in the shadow, Danny knew fullwell who was supposed to be in front of him. He would recognise this person anytime, anywhere in the world. And this person was dead, had been dead for two years now. A cruel kind of anniversary, Danny thought, gritting his teeth when he realised that in fact it was two years to the day since he had crept through the attic and opened the trunk.
Two years, in which he had fought to learn how to live without the people he loved.
"If this is a lie, please, stop now."
It was a plea, begging even. The figure did shake its head, slowly, deliberate. Danny's breathing hitched.
"Tell me this is not a lie," he whispered, his voice breaking.
Silence.
Then, the sound of a voice thought lost forever.
"It's okay, Danny. It's — " Alex faltered, the practiced words vanishing in a whirl of emotions kept at bay for far too long.
"This is not a lie."
Stated matter of fact. Alex watched Danny, afraid to frighten him, fighting his own fear.
Danny's hand covered his own mouth, the scream stifled. He cried when he took a step forward, lifting his hands to touch, to feel.
Reality.
Their bodies not a dream. Real.
Alex held still, tears flowing freely. And Danny caressed, let his fingers brush over wellknown cheekbones, full lips parting under the slight pressure. Hesitating, seeking permission, Danny locked eyes with Alex. A small nod.
"Welcome home," Danny said, leaning in for the kiss. The first of many to come.