[Whether he meant it or not, that's permission enough for her — or at least, that's what she hears it as. So, quietly, she closes the few steps of distance left between them and carefully wraps her arms around his middle, angling her embrace so that it's mostly pressed against his side instead of his chest, to avoid putting any undue pressure on his wound and his stitches.
It doesn't last long — just a few seconds, without even a hint of squeezing. But for a few seconds, she has her arms around him, and he is dirty and rumpled and still an absolute mess, and the fact that those things don't matter to her is just as important as the hug itself.]
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It doesn't last long — just a few seconds, without even a hint of squeezing. But for a few seconds, she has her arms around him, and he is dirty and rumpled and still an absolute mess, and the fact that those things don't matter to her is just as important as the hug itself.]