Her face falls from a smile to a frown and the very skies above her seem to darken.
Her heart hasn’t started back up beating yet, but he’s already edging closer and he hasn’t noticed but there’s only seconds left.
Oz freezes too, his expression as close to astonished as Willow has ever seen it – which isn’t particularly close, because it’s Oz.
It’s Oz. It’s really him. Willow had thought of that moment briefly when Kennedy mentioned Istanbul but never thought, never really hoped.
She hasn’t hoped, or maybe she had, but if she had then she shouldn’t have because now isn’t the right time. Though apparently it is, because he’s here, and he’s looking right at her, and she might as well be seventeen again.
“Oz...” she half chokes, and she hears the echo of it in Kennedy’s voice beside her, only Kennedy doesn’t seem to matter any more because it’s really him.
His arms are around her, warm, comforting and familiar. There are tears on her cheeks and for a moment she thinks they must be his but then she’s the one that’s sniffing.
“I’ve been waiting for you...” Oz tells her, and he doesn’t need to say anything more.