thefoundation | FINALE

FINALE

[And finally, after everything...it's over.

Everything is back to how it should be, once you exit out of the door behind the Waterfall. There are so many Monsters around, all of them excited and running around. Some are wondering what happened - some are just overwhelmed.

But, regardless....they're alive. They're here, after so much time. All of Monsterkind, back where they should be.

And everyone who you've lost...

They're back. They're back.

You have overcome so much. You have suffered through so much, and seen to the other side.

But now, for the first time in a long, long time...

...The Future is truly the brightest it's ever been.

No more pain. Only....forward, into wherever you go from here.

Though there is still so much to fix....there is still, as always...

Hope, and Dreams.

Hold onto those...

....And there's nothing you can't accomplish.]

SCP: THE FOUNDATION

THE END.

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[It's not absolutely every morning, because their houses are large and their range still larger; Hikage tends to wander at night as much as Subete tends to stick to his routine and the bed, and sometimes he finds him easier when the moon is up and other times it's simpler to search for his colors at dawn when the shadows recede.

But on enough mornings, it feels like, he wakes up to this filling his vision: an easy gradation of blacks to purples to various shades of red, different notes of quiet, warmth within arm's reach. A gaze he doesn't have to search for. They're close enough and the sky still not-quite-bright enough that it's easy to wrap part of that illusion around them even in the rustle of grass (there's always a garden) and the excess of dandelions (that's a little harder): Subete doesn't need to move, just lean ever so slightly closer.

His awareness (slower than feeling, slower than all of this but waking up to everything he knows about this particular voice) doesn't allow him to relax fully into the moment he's grasped, but he doesn't need his eyes to keep track of these things. Instead: he holds the gaze and lets it settle one part of him and fortify the rest. He's going to need it.]

You're not.

[He doesn't let it be a question even if it's all in the way he holds himself, not quite reaching out, and he doesn't let the tone of it falter even if it instead sounds like he doesn't quite know how to say it.

It's a statement caught somewhere in between like Hikage is, and there's a few ticks too long where they both stare at it.]

If this is about that, then-- [he cuts himself off, gets what he wants to say back under control even if he's given away the fact that he wants to say at least ten different things but the order is as jumbled as he's trying to pretend his heart isn't] If this is about your family, your sister, then we can do that first. Time isn't going to get the best of us again, and it won't for her, either.

[ Ah, it's nice to hear it mirrored back. Even if it should be for Subete and not himself, the simple fact is that it is. For someone who's spent so long lying from sunup to sundown, promises are important. It was a promise that unraveled this travesty of a life and if he had mind to think he would realize it's another one that's got it all tangled in a different type of knot.

This promise is important and he knows this means Subete is important, even if it's something he's never been able to say. But he knows and that's why he's here, why he hasn't pulled away even though every instinct in his body is telling him he needs to because this risks jeopardizing everything. But he doesn't want to, and he can't.

(It's almost lost in the strands of colors, tensions and breeze of the early morning but the pause allows him to grasp an unfamiliar note; there's so many thoughts that have run through his head in the past several days but not a single one was that their deal, their arrangement, their promise extended beyond this world. Why would it? They both had others they cared for, gave themselves for in different ways. Many nights ago, this was all about fun and fireworks. At least that's what he told himself then, and now— and now—)

His voice falters, the smallest crack but it splinters like a crawling vine, a clematis chasing the sun. ]

That's—that's what I'm going to do, free her first. That's why I need to leave. [ His fingers twitch against metal once more, betraying his paltry attempt at dressing up what's been laid bare. ]

There's only one way to free her from Psychedelica, but it's not complicated, it's pretty simple really. So I don't need-so you can go back to your world, because there's no reason to wait for me.

There's no point in doing so.

No point?

[It's soft, almost too soft but it's not enough to disguise the shake in it; as short as the phrase is there's worlds of conflict and pressure and something well on its way to mirroring the crack winding its way through Hikage's composure and slowly, inevitably bridging the space between them no matter what anyone wants.

There's no way to stop this connection now that they've fashioned it in this way, linked too many ideas and emotions and realizations to take them back: Subete takes a moment to try and find his voice again, there's something glassy in it, like it's being crushed down but he forces it back to some semblance of working. Because. That's what he does.]

There's no point in me-- [again, again he has to pull himself back and this time it's so his voice doesn't rise to the point where he can't use it again] --I'm not going to go back, if that comes first, even if that's what you want.

[It's been a while since he's skirted the edges of incoherence (the last time was, maybe, a sake-filled night or the first sake-filled night, but this is the photonegative; because where he was finding all kinds of colors in the pieces of himself still scattered about that night he's just finding all of the broken edges today instead); his eyes have dropped down, gazing straight at the movement of Hikage's hands. His own have curled, not quite into fists but he could use something to hold on to.]

I won't wait. [something stubborn in it, not strong enough to be challenge, but there all the same] I won't accept that. Because I said I wanted to see what we can do together.

[ Many further nights ago still, this color, this tone, was all Hikage wanted. But now that he can finally hear it, he hates it. Not in the way he's supposed to, not in the way he survived on hate and spite and every other negative emotion for years in the closed world of his own making. No, he hates it because he doesn't want to hear it from Subete; he's still more broken and mangled parts then he is whole, but the parts that are clear and incandescent can catch the light at just the right angle to be blinding.

No, he doesn't want this and he squeezes his eyes shut to get the words out.

(He didn't want to say this either, at least so plainly, but he refuses to let another misunderstanding stand. No more lies or deception, only truth, that's the life he's been living since his rebirth. ) ]

Subete I—that's not what I meant. And that's not what I want. [ His words have dipped down and he forces them up again. ]

I said there's no point because...if I'm dead, actually dead and not playing house with a stupid spider then that's it. You can still have Maia. [ He pauses, cuts himself off really, then decides to keep going because he completely lost the thread he was trying to stay balanced on once the cracks started to appear. His eyes open, one red, one purple, snapping to his hands, another photonegative of their first night together. ]

I don't want-I have to die. I'm the one who made Psychedelica, the one who holds it all together. There's no other way to break it apart besides breaking me.

[It's funny: so much of their mere existence together is new, words and touches and everything about who they are somehow tangled up together in a way that was probably never supposed to happen, just like their stories weren't supposed to meet, just like some half-baked storyteller wasn't supposed to step into their tales at just the wrong moments.

This part, though, he knows how to do: the beginnings of it, the parts of it that crush his voice almost to nothing until it comes screaming back out, the way he can keep just enough bits and pieces of himself together to still see his own reflection in them. Just him.

The voice in his ear, though -- it reaches him, across the narrowing gap between their physical forms, an echo of starlit nights and secret spaces and the moments when there was no gap at all -- and finally it's true enough to knock down the rest of what he's tried to put together out of their words, force him to start all over again. He follows the promise of that, a little blindly.]

It's not?

[It's not quite a question, quiet as it is. He's repeating it for himself, like saying it twice will make it more true, will make him a little less lost in this conversation. He blinks upwards, briefly, at the glow in Hikage's eye and then follows his gaze back down.

After a moment, there's something that's not really a laugh. It's a wavering noise, nonspeech and not tears, though Hikage has learned what those sound like recently, too.]

You're right, though. That's it, because I don't have-- I don't have Maia, or anyone else. [there's something hushed to it, like he's confessing something; he's never told anyone the end of this tale, and in fact he hadn't even bothered telling it to himself, but he's pretty sure his shadow knows it anyway] I'm a destroyer. That's the only use I have in that world, and maybe this one.

[It's said plainly. There's just something matter-of-fact about it, like the moon in the sky or his own name. Almost just as naturally, almost absently, he reaches out to lay his hand against the gun, lightly over Hikage's fingers -- not holding him back or moving it in any way, just holding on.]

So... I don't care what the Psychedelica is. I don't care what the connection is. If something needs breaking, then I'll break it.

[ There's so many echoes in the words, from their time together and the past beyond that to the start of their stories; it's hard to keep track of all the reverberations. So he listens as best he can, stills and then breathes again at the touch. He's not sure, he's not sure of anything except this one point of contact. ]

It's not. [ Repeated instinctively, and before he lets go of the thread he follows it, lets it unravel faster than his own thoughts. ]

I still want those words I gave you. I still want both promises, the one I made to her and the one I made to you. [ There's precedent yes, but part of the reason he's here this morning is because if he let this go on any longer he wouldn't be able to untangle them any longer. As he's coming to realize, it may be too late for that now even. ]

You want to do that? You can do that? [ Both questions are important but so is the order. Because he still doesn't understand even if it may have been here all along, but after lifetimes of mixing and marring shades he's lost sight of what one of the simplest colors looks like. He can deal with the how after he's dealt with the why even if it's the furthest cry from pragmatism. It shouldn't change anything and yet somehow it does, his grip on the gun weakening as he reaches out for more warmth. ]

I want all of that.

[I want-- Softly he lets the words hang in the air, like the wind as true morning approaches and the velvet heads of the dandelions around them. Subete is used to echoes, his entire life has been a series of them, marching in someone else's footsteps; but these are just a little different, the timbre transposed just enough that it becomes more like a harmony, a step in rhythm rather than along a track.

Maybe that's what makes them easier to follow. Maybe that's why he can be here at all. He's not sure but he greedily drinks everything in anyway, words and warmth scalding over fresh hurts; he doesn't care. He doesn't know how to do this part at all but he's never let that stop him.

And -- he knows how to watch, and he knows how to step away, but Subete's never been able to untangle himself once he's gotten himself into things. He's always in over his head but he's spent quite enough time drowning in miasma, and a considerable amount of time drowning in sake, that it doesn't matter anymore. The next words come both precisely picked and without an ounce of hesitation.]

So I intend to do it. [he tilts his head to catch Hikage's eye, as always he doesn't need to look to reach back and lace their fingers, tangling them all the more closely; his eyes are clear and shot through with purple deep like dusk and just as inevitable] Now that we're no longer trapped in this world... It's going to regret that someday. No one here has seen even a fraction of what I can do.

[ It's too late. He should have left a note, or even better a single flower in place of a goodbye, or nothing at all like he had intended—like he had intended.

Oh, that's what it is. Like he had intended to prod just for the fun of it, like he had intended to peek and pry for a taste, like he had intended to meet just for a drink to forget everything about that house and all the people in it, like he had intended for this to be a temporary arrangement.

He laughs a little, the crack spreading out, farther than he's ever bothered to look. It was always like this with them. It's funny, but it's also...he hates the rain, even if it's only a few drops on his hand. Even if it's sunny and there's not a cloud in the still waking sky. Another drop falls and the weight of it, the warmth of their fingers tangled just like they are, it's too much. The gun drops with a soft thud and he keeps his gaze downward, it's not that he's failing to meet Subete as he always does but that there's something clouding his vision like a passing storm. ]

But I need to fix it, I need to make things okay for her. I told her that lie and I need to make it a truth. [ He's long since lost control of his impulses and for a second he tries to disentangle their fingers and retreat before he's already riding the next one and reaching for Subete's other hand, flowers and all. ]

But I promised you too, and if that's what it all meant then-I'm not sure how it's going to work. I've remembered so much that I lost, but there are some things I still don't know. But I don't want to lose anyone else either, except that's the price that's demanded of me.

So I was going to—the easiest option for me is to just...

[ To just die, to just vanish without a trace. Why is everyone fighting him on it? Why shouldn't he pay for his sins? Morality really means little, but he doesn't want this all to come back for him in unpaid dues like it did with Usagi. He can't shake the feeling that a lifetime of falsehoods cursed her to this fate, because if it was just him he could deal with it. That's really what this is about at it's core, because he won't, he refuses to doom anyone else. ]

[Subete's always been terrible at making decisions, at finding all of himself at any point except the very last one, when he's backed into a corner with nowhere else to go. That's what he's been told all his life. That he's flighty. That he's unreliable.

That asking for direction is for those who don't lead. That holding on is for those who can't grasp the world for themselves.

That feeling is a weakness, connection is a tool, Verbalism is for the strong and for those who stand above all of that. For a time, he had even embodied some of that; for a time, that had been the decision he'd reached, at the end of everything. He knows, now, exactly where that path leads and he's still not sure he regrets that. But.

He's flighty. He's unreliable. He hesitates at every precipice and throws himself over them anyway. Their entire relationship has been a series of precipices, each deeper than the last, the depths more fathomless than the Abyss everyone is so in awe of and he can't see the bottom -- but maybe he doesn't care. He's spent what feels like half his life looking away from the things that happened in that mansion, but in particular all the things limned in red; he's spent the other half looking away from the things he left in the frozen reservoir of the worlds twenty years ago, swept into a corner with everything else frozen in a different dimension entirely. He's waited, and waited and waited and waited--]

Hikage.

[Breathed into the cracks in between, into the space between the words Hikage is still trying to say. Sometimes there are things you realize at gunpoint, that punch the breath out of you but not all the words. Sometimes it's as simple as a bouquet of hands and flowers, cupping all the warmth between yourselves.

It tips everything finally forward, decisions, stalled time, himself -- Subete sways forward over their joined hands and follows his own impulses. That, at least, he is good at. This close the mixed signals don't matter and his lack of maneuverability just means that instead of wiping away tears he's kissing them away. It's a matter of using what you have.]

Have you remembered so much, that you've forgotten where we came from? [the shade of a slow, curved smile between touches] If the price isn't one we want to pay, we cheat. If the truth is hard to find, then we change all the conditions for the truth to take shape. That's who I am, here, with you.

Easy doesn't have any meaning here.

[ He scrunches his nose instinctively to the kisses, a reflex in several ways that turns into a laugh. It's not exactly light and a little shaky, but it's better than the one before; a timorous flurry of wings. ]

Here in this place, together. Then that means— [ A lot of things, more than he can put into words and more than he should be capable of believing. He's been alone for so long in practice if not in actuality that he truly had forgotten what it's like.

He takes a breath and finally looks up a little, following the line of that smile because even now he really can't help himself. There's not one in return, not yet, but with the rain beginning to clear he can see what's in front of him now. ]

All right. If I can have both, if we can have whatever we want then all right. I don't care about cheating and I don't care about what debts I should pay, but I do care about— [ Rather than say the word, he leans forward and presses it between their lips. Because some things are still difficult to say, and he's a coward. But funnily enough, words don't matter as much with them, not when there's sounds and sights and touches to bundle them in. ]

[The funny expression softens his smile and warms it like the sun -- just the tiny glimmers of it at the very top of the skyscrapers in the distance, liquid and drop by drop (a little sea-breeze salty) in their inescapable cocoon at dawn. This is an echo too, a watercolor; his insides are a little liquid too when he follows the tail-end of that impulse to sneak a kiss to the scrunched-up nose, lighter than a butterfly's landing.]

It means whatever we want it to mean. Everything we want it to mean.

[Because everything has always been a part of him just as much as it has hounded him through the years, through lifetimes and eyes that looked through him and artifacts that weighed down the walls and ceilings around him since he could walk.

All of this is uncharted territory: everything of it, there is no step of this dance that he has done before but that's what makes it feel like finally stepping back into the world. From nothing: towards something. Someone.

Eyes that see him, lips that don't speak in any language he's ever shared nor scavenged before. At the end of all those lifetimes, maybe millennia of them, at the end of all words, Subete closes his eyes. He's never needed them to find the blurriest shape of words, the trailing ends of the phrases that led them here, but just now he wants to listen with everything else he has.]

Edited (wordinggg) 2020-09-22 05:52 (UTC)

[ Under the brightening rays of the sun instead of fluorescent neon, it's not the cloying notes of too much sake that's making his kisses sloppy and his words murmured, but a salty sweetness that's bubbled forth like a overly shaken bottle of champagne. He's more aware of everything like this and so he adjusts his tempo not to a rapid flurry but to a thoughtful, slow rhythm because he has even more to say now than he did that night.

It's a while before he has to surface, before he feels okay with drawing back to take in what they've just created from ashes and shadows and storms, fashioned into something new, bright and solid as a sunflower stalk sprouting from the earth. There's a bit of a pause where he studies all their colors and then smiles in relief that they're all still there; there may be even more of them now. ]

You would know about everything. [ A soft sigh and his eyes flutter closed before he opens them again, still more than one spectrum of the rainbow. It'll probably be a bit before he truly settles, but they've found the time for that again, in the tick tick of their watches. ]

But what I want right now isn't everything, except maybe it is. Bed and you, the shoes don't really matter this time.

[It's like sharing a good bottle or a too-small corner of a too-large onsen, a sweet that he's going to end up eating most of; the first kisses pop easily like the top of a flute before tipping, smoothly flowing deeper and more amber the more light is wrapped between their touches. Months and so many experiences later it's still easy to get swept up in the current.

The colors are slowly coming back into the world, but it's his ears and the senses nestled at the core of him that feel the passing of the storm and the brand-new notes in the still hushed field, brighter than the dandelions.

There's a tilt of his head as their gazes meet properly this time, the quick smile back a brushstroke at the edges of the way they melt together.]

Well. Bed, and us. I do know about that.

[Unselfconscious for once, maybe because he's riding the rush still from everything that just shook through here without disturbing a single feathery flower; maybe because he's distracted with trying to move without letting go, and discovering that means walking backwards all the way home.

A thoughtful blink and a hum later, a hum when he reaches back down into that core to add his own splash to their still-wild spectrum, a spring-green light washing over their hands and coalescing into a window in space-and-time: sunlit shades of a familiar wide-open room with the lines of a couch and a book or two abandoned on the side table more familiar still, the faint stirring of the ocean in the background.]

... I think.

[It's a touch nonplussed, because that's distinctly not where he meant to open that portal, and his control over his abilities is normally -- even though this isn't a normal time at all -- something beneath thought, or perhaps beyond it. That might be the source of the sudden weightlessness Hikage is feeling, the green light spreading outward from their palms, or it might just be part of the same movement when Subete reaches out to semi-catch and semi-lift him in an easy carry once the wave of Verbalism wears off.]

... Us, then bed?

With all the nights we've spent together, of course you do. [ Somehow his words manage to be both playful and sincere, and he doesn't bother to over correct like he normally would. He's too preoccupied watching all the colors in a bid not to drift off like one of the dandelion puffs around them.

Mn, it doesn't seem to be working all that well as he really does feel like he could float away, taken by an early morning breeze. It's the only thought he has before he's swept up, not by the wind but by supple arms he knows all too well. ]

I can still—I said shoes didn't matter! [ Like that's not entirely nonsensical, punctuated by a long grumble that he muffles into Subete's chest because it's really the only option here. It has the exact opposite effect he intended, and it's not even that successful at hiding how his cheeks now match his one eye.

This isn't the first time he's been in this position and you'd think he'd learn but actually- ]

Fine, I guess it's faster this way even if the orders wrong. [ Instead of doing his best impression of a caterpillar, this time Hikage reaches up to wrap his hands around Subete's neck for support. A butterfly can learn new tricks, after all. ]

[Ah, he somehow still can't hold a candle to Hikage when it comes to these lines, or the awareness of all the things they're capable of together (for better or for worse), so getting called out on that particular front makes Subete's ears turn red just as surely as any other time they've broached the topic...

Maybe the world will have mercy and Hikage will have missed that particular mishap in the middle of the ridiculous arc of Verbalism and bridal carries. Subete's brief huff turns into a soft laugh against his hair, he can't quite help laying his cheek there and letting the flyaway locks of it tickle at him. It's entirely an early-morning indulgence that usually happens in bed, but it's been a long, long morning and he's allowed to lose himself just a little bit the way Hikage is losing track of his words.]

Mmm, but shoes always matter. Yours especially.

[Even as he idly returns the completely nonsensical dialogue he's stepping forward, giving the bundle in his arms a small securing squeeze when he steps quickly through the portal into one of their living rooms (he's actually not sure how long the thing will hold, given how erratic his abilities and his emotions are right now). It takes a moment or two of glancing around to try and orient himself at an hour when they'd usually be in the kitchen, or out on the patio somewhere exchanging glances and the occasional smile over breakfast and the paper.

There's a quiet buzz and a small electronic boop when one of the numerous, fairly rudimentary robots littered about the place rolls forward out of nowhere to try to assist. It's really very funny, their little corner of this SCP Earth: spacious, overly opulent, full of knick-knacks but not at all empty.]

But I just wanted to get home. That's all.

[There's a pause between one sunbeam and the next, Subete tilting his head to press a kiss where his laugh had landed, easy and fleeting. There's a gentle tap of his foot to get the robot to go back to whatever-it-was-doing before he moves on.]

[ Whether it's mercy or simple physics is up for debate, but between the position he's in and his own not quite fluttering it's easy to miss that particular spot of red. But Hikage can hear certain things better from this position, except it's honestly hard to tell whose heartbeat is in his ears like this.

His own beats a little faster at the off comment, because for all his vanity his heels are one of his most eclectic signatures along with the lace he wears for special occasions. That all makes it more personal somehow, even if things are plenty personal already. There's no proper quip back, just a soft mmn, along with a few words about that must be why the robots keep stealing them. His more settled grip is entirely coincidental.

The beeping and buzz are almost lost in the sensation of traveling via portal, and for a second it tickles at his mind that there's something he should do... it's quickly replaced by an actual tickle brought about by a kiss. Whatever it is, he can deal with it later. Whenever later is, and that might be a while judging by his yawn. ]

Yeah, home. [ ... ] Isn't there a saying about cheating home? Maybe it was stealing... [ In lieu of a shrug there's a nuzzle instead; he barely knows anything about sports, particularly baseball but it's okay if he can still use it to convey his feelings on the real subject. Regardless of how he says it, and regardless of the loopyness of his mind, emotions, and everything in between: this is home and it's where he feels like he belongs. ]

Edited 2020-09-23 05:44 (UTC)

[There's a brief muffled laugh at the comment about the robots, that trips a little to become more muffled still when Hikage tightens his grip, but Subete doesn't mind; there's an indulgent note in the noise of thoughtful assent he makes back, some muttering about how 92-kun might need a few tune-ups.

It's still very quiet in the house that's slowly waking up around them, albeit in slightly more distant whirs and beeps, the sound of the sea whispering closer with each open window they pass. Their heartbeats seem to settle easily into the space between ticks and taps and other noises, a rhythm to the homecoming itself; this is around the time Subete would normally be checking his phone or one of the screens or displays for news and plans for the day, but all of that's sort of flown out of his head by now.

Instead the yawn is contagious and he seriously contemplates just going back to bed for the rest of the day -- the closer Hikage nestles the more tempting that idea gets. At the very least, early to rise and early to bed seems to be the immediate plan here.]

Stealing home base. [he's not a huge baseball fanatic but he did do sports at some point in the recent (distant) past; even across dimensions Japan's national pasttime refuses to give it a rest] Which is exactly what we're going to do.

[There's something pleased and a little wry about it, because even as they finally reach their (really much too large) bedroom and Subete makes sure all the shades are drawn and the sun and maybe the day itself is put away -- there's echoes to those words that tiptoe into the future. They have more than two home bases now to take back and fashion the way they want, after all.

For now, though, getting to bed is more than enough -- they can steal some more sleep and time together.]

Later... [ Because he's not stealing anything right now other than Zzzs. It's a dangerous mix to be both physically and mentally exhausted, but that's what happens you sleep even less than you normally do due to ill-fated plans that seem to be the only thread you're able to grasp. But now with a veritable bundle in his hand... oh, there's something else in his hand too.

He opens his eyes having closed them somewhere on the not so scant journey to the bedroom (still red but he matches the sunbeams just fine), the soft lines of the room coming into focus. ]

I only need you in bed... [ That might be nonsensical too except for the pop of blue that goes flying from his hands to 92-kun who seemed to be lying in wait for his next opportunity. A beep beep later it's rolling off, Hikage's only thought that it better not make a wreath of his shoes and flowers for the genkan.

Right, shoes. They skipped that step and it doesn't matter...well if he's fleetingly grabbing at consciousness he can make an attempt; his concentration is as flyaway as his locks at this point but a moment later a few butterflies spring forth, flying away and taking his shoes and his cowl with them. Trying to change himself into sleepwear is way beyond his abilities in his current haze and who knows how it would have went, maybe even removing clothes was too much because in the kaleidoscope escaping towards the ceiling is a singular white butterfly. That can't be right, or maybe it is.

Hikage hasn't noticed either way, because he may just be asleep at this point. In vicinity of the bed is good enough. ]

Mmm, it really is a reflex, isn't it?

[How Hikage manages to fluster him even half-asleep is seriously getting to absurd levels when you think about it, but Subete isn't thinking too hard just now so he's not indignant, just kind of bemused -- he watches 92-kun nip in and out with much fanfare and probably pop a wheelie on the way to doing absolutely ridiculous things to their shoes.

... He's not sure whether to laugh or call it back somehow, but his Verbalism really is about as reliable as Hikage's butterflies right now so in the end he just shakes his head and carefully deposits his bedside delivery amidst the sheets. He should... probably also make sure Hikage is bundled in (cocooned in) properly once the flurry of butterflies passes, but for now he just sprawls in a half-sitting position next to him and watches the murmuration of many, many wings shifting the shadows into strange shapes, fantastical textures.

(He notices that there's something off in the cloud of wingbeats somewhere, but it's not enough for his dazed brain to register just now; maybe sometime later he'll think back and realize, but today is not that day.)

He ends up sitting there for a while, listening to the slowing breath behind him close enough to touch and staring into the air long after it's completely cleared; in here it's still and slightly cooler and the tips of his fingers are warm where they got tangled together somewhere between the flowers and the shoes. His sigh is warm, too, shifting all the pieces settling back inside him and rattling him around a little. It's impossible for everything to settle right now, but he--

He curls up, eventually, tucking himself close and against their hands. He'll get to the sheets later; his clothes, the shower, everything later. He'll be hovering at the edge of sleep and wakefulness for a while.]

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FINALE

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