With Elvis, it's never easy to tell what he's thinking or feeling. Anabelle herself, despite having improved in recent weeks, has yet to truly master the science. She does, however, take note of the subtle changes in expression from when his eyes first meet hers to when he speaks at last. He looks surprised to see her, which is understandable, and it makes her appreciate the gesture all the more. It was a gamble, putting it all out in the open like that, especially when she considers how she has had to fight tooth and nail to drag every confession from his stubborn lips. Even so, she finds it strange that he ever had a doubt, because for her, there never was a single one. Everything changed from the every moment she saw his message on that screen, and despite not having realized it at the time, she knows now that there was no place she was more destined to wind up in than here amidst the flowers with him.

Her smile widens when he answers, and she bites her lip, considering the patch laid out before her. It's the answer to a question she hadn't yet thought to ask — How to assure Elvis, once and for all, that she could never see herself anywhere but here. That she would never want to.

That same smile fades once she lowers herself to the ground, close enough that the sun doesn't obscure her vision, and rather than settling in against Elvis as planned, she leans forward, her fingers grazing the tender bruises on his neck. There's no stopping the tears from welling in her eyes, but she fights them back, refusing to dwell on the bad anymore. That's what got her to such a point in the first place, and with a glance at Elvis, she knows the same is true for him. "I would've come," she breathes, her voice almost as hoarse as his. "If you'd called me, I would've come."