He cannot help but stare. She sits across from him, a lazy, relaxed smile resting on her face. She twirls a finger in a lock of her golden hair and he's mesmerized, watching it slip through her thin, scarred hands.

He is taken aback by how beautiful she is. He knows every inch of her, from the long scar that runs from her jaw to her ear to the small, single freckle on her left wrist. When he closes his eyes he can see hers, looking up at him through thick eyelashes, a shy, hesitant smile ever present on her face.

"Celes," he says, and her name tastes as sweet as sugar on his lips, sounds like the ringing of a bell.

Her smile spreads, and she slowly reaches across to take his hand, her cool skin sending a shiver down his arm as it brushes against him.

"Yes, Locke?" she asks and her voice is simply music, a symphony of sounds spilling from her mouth as she says his name. Locke sighs, hardly believing that they're both here, sitting, their hands clasped together and their eyes locked in an endless, silent conversation.

He doesn't reply – he didn't really need to speak, only hear her voice. The sound of her is a beacon, guiding him into reality and reminding him that she is real. She is real, and she is with him, and she is alive. He lived in despair for so long without her, thinking he'd failed yet again, and yet, no – she sits across from him, twirling a finger in a lock of her golden hair, and smiles.

He cannot help but stare.