[ It's about an hour later, give or take, when Banagher steps foot in the hospital. Once he left the library, he couldn't quite decide if he wanted to walk quickly or slowly, and he ultimately ended up at a pace that wasn't quite either. Like a drift. A pace that cooped him up in his own head with a vaguely nervous feeling, like claustrophobia, which was a far cry from the clarity that'd struck through him earlier. A clarity she must have felt too — like a blare of sunlight, beautiful and golden and limitless, a recognition that suddenly intensified enough to burn, and hurt. Wax wings and such, a realization enough to humble him. He hadn't meant to react like he did, much less drag her right into the middle of it, and he's feeling foolish for it, but not enough to keep a distance.
Somehow, he thinks nothing will ever be enough to, now.
Once he's gone through the motions of checking in, he's allowed to go search for her room. The environment does little for his nerves, the cold and clinical white of everything. Once he finds it, he pauses, heel scuffing on the floor, before he steps into the doorway. ]
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Somehow, he thinks nothing will ever be enough to, now.
Once he's gone through the motions of checking in, he's allowed to go search for her room. The environment does little for his nerves, the cold and clinical white of everything. Once he finds it, he pauses, heel scuffing on the floor, before he steps into the doorway. ]
Hey.