[ the absurd bout of nerves he's built up in the minutes between asking her to come and her appearance at his door dissipates the second she crosses the room and has him in her arms, his heart beating harder for the relief he feels, his hands shaky in a way very unbecoming of embry moore standards. the longer he keeps his eyes shut, the more he can pretend he never left at all, that everything danny did to him was a hazy nightmare borne of his own obsessive dreams. he held alicent just like this, after all, what felt like a mere blink ago. ]

Hey, sunshine.

[ there's a smile in his voice despite himself, despite how ash told him the house is blanketed with death now, despite how he hadn't even wanted to leave ash's room to come and fetch his own clothes because parisa's clothes are still strewn all over and she's dead and his heart aches with every beat. he gives himself a swift kick to the brain and then he's bear-walking alicent backwards in his tight grip, knocking them both onto his bed atop messy piles of his luxury clothes, plus a few pairs of parisa's lacy underthings. ]

Did you have fun at my funeral? [ he rolls to sit up on his elbows, a flop of dark hair in his eyes, the fully healed gash across his throat on display through his open collar. ] I heard it was lame. No strippers. You might know them as whores. Hawk really tried to keep it classy.