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Ori dreamt of Crow every night.
Crow’s most recent departure wasn’t like the last. Leaving Spider’s lair felt like a beginning, and Ori had tried very, very hard not to think of their latest parting as an ending. Not only was the former mutual, but their eventual reunion was assured. They stayed in frequent contact, holograms accompanying one another to sleep, messages left for each other between missions, an abundance of assurances that they were thinking of one another, longing for one another. The stakes were lower, too. Back then, it was only friendship, even if it tasted of love already. There seemed so much less to lose, and so much left to gain.
Crow’s more recent departure had been abrupt and angry. The loss of him was immediate, and once he was no longer in front of her, he came to exist in liminality, Ori unsure exactly who or what he’d run away as. It was Crow’s way to hide when he needed to process, a trait Ori related to, but so often they’d run to each other, rather than away from one another. It was hard to convince herself that he’d been running from Mara, or even Savathun, and not her, despite his momentary forgiveness in the words he left her with. The most painful part, Ori eventually realised, was exactly how much of herself Crow took with him into the unknown dark.
Plenty of other things were going on in the universe. Time rolled on, Ori’s duties as a Guardian as endless and distracting as they ever were. Eliksni stood beside Guardians in the City, their glittering shrines next to the flickering candles of humanity’s during the Festival of the Lost. Headless Ones became as prevalent as ethereal black and white birds. Histories led into mysteriously deadly water and emerged in familiar, violent shapes. New and renewed friendships even made their way into Ori’s life. Nothing, though, was enough to stop her mind from dwelling on Crow with every spare second.
The one way they still communicated was in music. While still with the Spider, Crow had asked Ori to teach him what it was to be a Guardian, rather than just a Lightbearer. Among far more important things, Ori had shared with him a tradition passed on to her from her first friend, Anders, of building a playlist to listen to while fighting through mundane activities. Crow’s first attempt at this had been primarily sad, lethargic songs, which Ori deemed the wrong kind of motivation. They’d ended up sharing the collections they built with one another for inspiration.
When they began to further their relationship, a new mutual playlist was created. Ori was the first to flood it with songs that reminded her of Crow, subtle and not-so-subtle hints toward her budding romantic interest in him filling in the gaps between songs emphasizing Crow’s loneliness and confusion as he explored his identity outside of Spider’s lair. The poetry became more overt once they were around each other again. Eventually, the list stagnated in the wake of their more consistent company, though both still listened to it occasionally.
The first time Ori opened the playlist after Crow had left to work through memories that weren’t his, there was a single, unexpected new addition. Where before, each song seemed to be a mutual embodiment of their feelings, sometimes less pleasant than others, this was clearly a message. The first time she listened to the flow of its words, she choked on tears of both relief and sorrow. It spoke of deep inner torture, the need to be understood, but to keep anything precious far away in order to protect it.
Ori turned off the gravity in her Kestrel, stripped naked, curled herself tight, closed her eyes, and in the chill of space let the song caress her like a natal heartbeat.
Hours later, emerging from the recesses of her own mind as if from a cocoon, Ori found two more songs waiting for her. The playlist continued to grow, and accompanied her everywhere for days, until, falling asleep to it, a few suggested songs slipped in. One of them hit her psyche so hard she started awake and added it, breath bated, wondering if Crow would recognise the new addition, and what it said in reply: an acknowledgement of understanding, that she was still out there, strong enough to help him carry his burden, should he let her.
It took a few more days for him to add another of his own, a stripped-raw admittance of his continuing struggle to believe himself worthy. Much as it pained her, Ori clung to the song’s praise of its object as an admittance that Crow also continued to want her. The fear that whatever he went through, whoever he emerged as, would no longer wish Ori to hold a special place in his life, would no longer love her, had begun to replace the idea that he was lost to her forever. Just this small concession of indirect communication became a lifeline, like water to the veins of a dying flower, continuing to grow in the direction of Crow’s light.
Her response appeared in an unrelated list of songs as she caught her breath after a routine patrol, dragging her quickly back to her ship to send it like a missive. It took the form of another assurance that she was there for him, not only for who he was, but for whatever change came to him. A song by the same artist was added a short time later, quickly enough that Ori could feel how present Crow must have been, to receive and reply within the hour. It thrilled every part of her to know they were thinking of each other at the same time, and the joy of hearing the song’s message shot seratonin through her so strongly she sobbed as she listened to it on repeat. Though its tone was weary and desperate, the beautiful acoustic song confirmed a longing desire and explicitly stated, grateful, mutual love.
Though it would be months before they saw one another in person again, each of them strained and terrified with their perpetual growth, they continued this contact. Communicating indirectly was not only easier, but somehow more poignant, the condensed message of music and poetry far better at encompassing what they needed to say than they would have been able to with mere discussion. Through the progression of the year and their strange lives, they quietly and constantly thought of one another, enough that Ori didn’t fear her own longing. Crow would return to her, and her love would be waiting for him.