[It takes all of half a second before the voice registers. Before he stops walking right in his tracks. He doesn't know if the feeling in his chest is hope or anticipation or panic or what. But it's cold, hot at the same time, something squeezing while he tries to tell himself this is his imagination. Nothing more.]
[And then he turns.]
[He turns and it's like time hit a screeching halt. All he can do is stand there, staring. The box over his shoulder takes this moment to abruptly fall out of his suddenly limp grasp, scraping across bare metal. He's not armored, not today, and he's abruptly conscious of the alien sound of metal fingers flexing.]
no subject
[And then he turns.]
[He turns and it's like time hit a screeching halt. All he can do is stand there, staring. The box over his shoulder takes this moment to abruptly fall out of his suddenly limp grasp, scraping across bare metal. He's not armored, not today, and he's abruptly conscious of the alien sound of metal fingers flexing.]
[That's. Not Pidge.]
... Matt?