a martyr on a bridge that's burning down

HARPER

I stood outside when the roof gave in
You crawled from the wreckage you were lying in

He is not close enough to hear Branbast's voice, to use that as proof that this is really her. While he has not had any sort of hallucinations since the sickness broke, no reason to believe she isn't standing here hale and whole that isn't rooted in his own despair, Harper isn't willing to risk it. Not when this world is so full of magic he doesn't understand and can't compete with.

They stand opposite, staring at one another with wide and disbelieving eyes. Frozen. Only when her petal lips part to say his name does he break, throwing any fears that she may be some impostor to the wind. He can deal with that later if he must. Right now, he can't stand the empty place in his chest that has been hurting since he made it home and discovered she was gone. Surging forward he pulls her into his arms, trying not to displace Branbast but unable to spare too much attention to ensuring it. Not when he crumples the moment his skin touches hers. Solid and immovable, no mere illusion. Harper buries his face in her golden hair, eyes burning as he breathes in her honeysuckle scent. "Oh god, Phoebe. I found you. You're alive." It comes out disjointed but no less like a prayer of thanks.

You're out of reach and we're out of time, I take it all and toe that line
You held my hand and pulled me down with you