Chapter Text
There is aught but quiet. There is nothing more to existence than the stillness of your breath, the worn wooden grain against your calloused hands, the string taut against your fingers, the circular black form of the bullseye before you. There is no fear, no nervousness, no worry about the journey you will make in three days’ time. You exhale, release, and your arrow finds it mark within the bullseye, but only just.
Perhaps not as composed as you wished, but judging from the cheers of the Crystarium Guard behind you, it is enough to be satisfying.
Then again, there is a bittersweet sentiment on the air of love and impending loss, of congratulations and change and heartache. You are not immune to the understanding that you will be missed, and the dear man you will bring along with you even more so.
Three days. In three days’ time, you will return to the Source with a crystal bearing the souls of your irreplaceable companions and the greatest love of your life. For all you have done, you have never carried any burden so precious, and imagining the very aether of those you hold dear pulsing against your palms is enough to make your breath stutter even now.
You bring your bow up to bear once more with a fresh arrow, still your mind, exhale and release. Another bullseye, but precariously close to the edge. The Guard cheers again, and as you turn to face them you do your best to put on a carefree smile—and blink in surprise.
So lost were you, you failed to register that the Crystal Exarch, your Raha, had joined the crowd of onlookers. Resplendent in light summer robes of red and white, the front cut high to end several ilms above his knees while the back billows long enough to nearly touch the ground, the lack of sleeves allowing the sunlight to refract off of his crystal arm and shoulders, throwing rainbows of light onto those nearest him. A child or perhaps some enterprising citizen has gifted him a crown of interwoven stick and dandelions, bright against the red of his braided hair. The golden sandals he wears snug against his powerful legs climb nearly all the way to his freckled thighs, and the result is glorious indeed. You will never tire of looking at him—solid and gentle, magical and beautiful, yours. He gives a tentative smile as you meet his eyes, the crimson still slightly washed out from the passing of his Allag blood to his granddaughter a fortnight prior.
You return the smile in kind, your heart leaping in your breast at the sight of him, as it has done now for some few moons. With all of the preparations to be made for the elections and Lyna’s assumption of the Tower, the goodbyes to be said, the loose ends to be tied, he has been extremely busy of late, his work taking a nearly manic edge as he prepares to renew his life on the world where he was born. Granted, this burst of nerves was not limited to him—the other Scions are still away on their final tasks—Alisaie at the Inn, Alphinaud with the Chais, Urianger in Il Mheg, Y’shtola with Runar. Of course, there was also Thancred and Ryne, but their situation was a bit different.
As for yourself, you concluded your rounds two days prior, and your heart aches still with the heaviness of so many goodbyes delivered in such short order. Feo Ul has promised to deliver messages back and forth for you in the future, but for now, as the fated day draws nearer, you find yourself wishing more and more for privacy, for time to reflect and to enjoy the city that has become more a home to you than any one place on the Source ever managed.
Did G’raha Tia feel the same, you wonder, before he locked himself away in the Syrcus Tower? This odd predilection toward solitude while also longing for company and closeness?
A very selfish part of you wants to stay here, to live out your days with the caretaker in this peace you’ve both worked so hard to attain. You know he would forgive you if you asked to remain with him here…but also that you would never forgive yourself for turning your back on your friends back home. To have such a gift in the Blessing and the Echo and yet leave Tataru, Krile, Aymeric, the Fortemps family, and many others to deal as they might with the Empire would leave a hollowness in your chest that would blight your happiness for the rest of your days.
And so you will go home, and you will fight…and to your overwhelming, overjoyed, guilty relief, your Raha has found a way to return with you.
Looking into his eyes, you can see the hope writ clear, the anticipation and trepidation of taking such a journey, of pursuing such a life-altering change. But there is also love, and resolve, and unshakable trust in his expression when he looks at you of late—even now, with your wandering mind and unsteady hands blunting a skill that should come to you like breathing.
Perhaps it’s time you hand the attention over to someone else for a while, before you embarrass yourself with a less than heroic shot.
“Would you care to join us?” you ask, holding out your bow to him with a warm smile. He is an excellent archer, and no doubt the Guard would be cheered to see him in action…there were so few chances left to them to witness their caretaker at work, after all.
To your surprise he gives a pained smile and an apologetic incline of his head, tail swishing in a low arc behind him.
“Ah, I’m afraid I’ll have to refrain from participation today, but tomorrow I should be glad to join, if you’ll have me.” You try to hide your concern but feel your smile faltering—he is usually quite pleased to shoot alongside you, though in front of others he covers his enthusiasm somewhat with humility and practiced grace. At least the Guard seems excited about the prospect of training with him on the morrow, to your relief. “Actually, if it is not too much trouble, I should like to borrow our dear warrior for a while…there are some minor details that require address ahead of our pending journey.”
And so it is, bemused and wondering, that you follow him away from the training grounds and into the aetheryte rotunda, blinking against the brilliance of the midday sun all the way. You raise your brows as you realize that he means you teleport somewhere with him. At this crucial juncture, you can’t imagine why he would wish to leave the Crystarium.
“Where are we going?” you ask, and his lips purse at the question, ears slanting back with thought.
“…Fanow, I should think,” he says after a moment, with the air of only just having decided. Again, you wonder what he is about, but hold your peace. You’ll know soon enough, after all.
Still, your arrival in the Viis village is awkward, considering that you’d given your final parting words there about five days ago, and the inhabitants are justifiably surprised to see you again. Raha comes to your rescue to explain the unexpected visit, and you blush and duck your head at the sharp grins and knowing looks cast in your direction.
Once the subject of your arrival is smoothed over, the Seeker reaches out for your hand, and you will never tire of the way his eyes light up when you lace your fingers with his. He smiles at you, looks away bashfully as he silently begins to lead you down the wooden entryway bridge to the breathtaking path of luminescent cerulean flowers leading deeper into the wood. There is an understanding between you that this will be explained in due course, and for now, you are satisfied…and pleased to be able to lay eyes on this part of the Greatwood once more in his company. Even when the Light had still ravaged the land, it never quite vanquished the damp smell of life under the canopy…a detail you’d appreciated dearly back when you had several Wardens roiling within your breast. Rak’tika was ever a place of peace for you, of natural goodness and fresh air.
Lost in your thoughts and appreciation for the mottled greenery and shafts of sunlight breaking through the leaves, you almost run into him when he comes to a stop at the base of a tree that is quite impressive in width, even by Rak’tika standards. A clear brook bubbles and warbles over rounded rocks to your left, while azure flowers tumble along the banks and carmine mushrooms crowd the tree trunk in clumped bursts of color. The moss beneath your feet is soft and springy, the air cool and welcome.
“Will this do for a place to talk?” he asks with a faint smile, even though he already knows the answer from your quiet expression of relaxed contentment.
“Of course, though I would have been just as happy to speak with you in one of the gardens,” you answer, wondering again why he chose to come away like this. The most meaningful conversations of your relationship had been held in the gazebo, or on one of the wrought iron garden benches, or even in the nestlike bed tucked away at the far end of the Tower enclosure.
“Ah, yes, well…” he says with a light blush, ears giving a self-conscious flick backwards. “I…I think it would do me some good to get out of the Crystarium for a bell or two, breathe some different air. I’ve paced the city up one end and down the other these past two days, caught up in what I soon shan’t be able to see anymore, and I…” he trails off, shaking his head with a frown.
“It’s alright,” you say gently, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’ve always loved it here.” You give a puff of fond laughter at how his ears perk as he brightens instantly, then ask “What’s on your mind, my dear one?” He blinks at the question, then sighs and indicates for you to sit down. You oblige, shifting to find a comfortable spot on the mossy root, and once you are settled he sits down to join you. For a while you both lean back against the massive hardwood and stare off into the canopy, you in patience, him no doubt gathering his thoughts.
“I’d always hoped to bring Lyna here, when she was a girl,” he muses finally. “I was naïve in thinking that myself being a miqo’te wouldn’t matter if I just raised her with love.” You look to him expectantly, waiting for him to continue. Most likely this topic in particular isn’t the real reason he’s called you out here, but you’ve grown quite fond of the roundabout story paths he takes to get to the heart of what he truly wishes to speak of.
“As you now realize,” he says, “the Viis of the First have a very proud heritage, and while when Lyna was small there was yet a stigma attached to those who left the forest, there remained a lofty cultural background shared among even the exiles of their people that I failed to understand the importance of teaching her. She was far from the only child of their kind to be orphaned, and it wasn’t until she was, oh, nine or so, that I realized that she was being looked down upon by her peers for not understanding basic Viis religious and cultural practices.”
“So what did you do?” you ask, leaning against him to physically show you are listening and interested. His tail swishes for a moment, then settles lightly to rest against your backside.
“I attempted to come here and learn,” he says with a chuckle. “Obviously, the sensible thing to do would have been to speak to the Viis who had left the forest and were residing in the Crystarium from its early days. I had it in my head, however, that to make due for my transgressions, I would go straight to the source of her culture and learn of it in its purest form.”
“I bet that went well,” you say dryly, remembering the welcome you received when you first stepped foot into the heart of Rak’tika proper.
“About as well as you may imagine,” he laughs. “Needless to say, after I nursed my wounded pride for a day or two, I sought out a Viis couple who at the time worked in the Wandering Stairs, and they told me all I needed to know, sans arrows fired in my general direction.” You smile and turn to deliver an affectionate nuzzle to the ear closest to you, his red fur tickling at your nose.
“Are you telling me that you make life difficult for yourself sometimes?” you ask cheekily, and he blushes, shoots you a chagrined smile.
“Yes, I fear that’s exactly what I’m attempting to impart, albeit in a rather clumsy fashion,” he admits. “And I pray you’ll forgive me this shortcoming once you hear what I have to say…especially since this may cause some difficulty for you as well,” he says in a low voice, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. A cold pinprick of fear stabs at your heart as you look upon his troubled face, but you stay your emotions for now. After everything you’ve been through together, as much as he has professed to love you and shown his ardor in a kaleidoscope of varied manners, you cannot imagine that he would be having second thoughts now.
Although, you would understand if he did.
He looks to the canopy, then back to his hands as he begins to speak.
“For some time as I’ve conducted my research into how I might return with you, I’ve considered only one logical outcome, and pursued it with, ah, characteristic singular focus. That I would rejoin my body, yet sleeping on the Source, and be as a young man again with the full memory of my life as the Exarch...and subsequently have a lifetime to spend with you.” You nod quietly—that was how you’d understood the plan thus far, though of course the intricacies of how such a feat would be accomplished are lost on you.
He heaves a deep sigh, his tail flicking against your lower back in agitation.
“Of late, however, I...I believe such thinking may have been shortsighted, and...and insomuch as this stands to affect you, I should be glad of your opinion,” he says softly, finally looking to you with a vexed expression. You lean over a bit to offer him a gentle bunt to his forehead, as he is often wont to do with you.
“I’m listening,” you say, with what you hope is an encouraging smile. He favors you with a pained, apologetic half smile of his own before pushing himself up to stand, tail lashing behind him.
Ah, so he’s going to pace, you note ruefully as you take in the stains left by the moss on his pristine robes. Well, not that he’ll need them much longer anyway. You hope.
“The one who yet slumbers in the Tower is me, and yet not,” he says, studying the stream with a frown. “My own existence is within that of a split timeline, orphaned from what would have been, which explains my continued life. Were he left to sleep, the life he would arise to in the future would not be mine, though we share the exact same memories up to twenty four years of age.” He bends down to pick up a browning leaf, twirls it between his fingers before setting it on the surface of the flowing water. You both watch as it floats away, his melancholy nearly tangible in the air between you.
“When I was a young man,” he continues, turning to pace a ways down the bank, “I never thought of anything more than Allag, of my inevitable Azeyma-given destiny, for there had to be such a fate, surely, or I would not have been born with that eye. The thought that I might perish in lonesome obscurity as my father before me, and his father before him...it was more than I could bear. I was so determined to grasp that fate with my own two hands, so desperate, that I would have done anything...and in the end, I did. I...I turned my back on you. I loved you, but I was so very afraid you’d distract me from what I believed to be my truest purpose in life, and that all of my work would be for naught. Gods, how I loved you, and I still left,” he says softly, covering his face. You want to get up and go to him, but sense that he isn’t done. You’ve never spoken much of your early days together, and you have a feeling this is something he’s wanted to bring up for some time…best to let him continue. You pull your knees to your chest and lean against them instead, willing yourself to wait.
“I was falling for you, back then,” you venture, wondering if you should interrupt or not. “The night before you left, when you came to me…I remember waking in the darkness with you at my side, and I couldn’t sleep for dreaming of adventuring with you.” It hadn’t been love quite yet, but so close…as though they were standing together overlooking a brilliant vista, a beautiful path that they would soon journey together.
How sharply that dream had been cut short.
“I…at the time, I didn’t dare to believe you thought me your equal, for all I hoped that it might be possibly one day. But I knew you cared for me, knew when I looked into your eyes that night what it was that I was throwing away, but I still…” His voice breaks, and this time you do stand—but the glance he throws your way, regretful and pointed, lets you know that he’s not quite ready to be consoled. Discomfited, you lean back against the tree and cross your arms over your chest, more because you don’t know what to do with yourself than anything else.
He turns on his heel and resumes pacing, ears low.
“I took so much from you. Your fragile hope that we might have a future together; your dearest companions, with aught more than vague explanations across the rift. I took years of their lives, and kept my reasons close. Eventually, I even took you, inflicted you with a dire trial, the consequences of which I did not fully divulge, and plotted to take myself from you again without telling you, because I believed it would be doing you a kindness.” He gives a huff of frustration, tail lashing and catching on his robes. “I grow weary of inflicting my mistaken solitary judgements on those closest to me, of agonizing over the damage my foolishness has wrought upon others.” Your fingers dig into your arms as you ponder what to say…you’ve rarely seen him so caught up and disgruntled, and you’re well aware that you have nothing to offer that might make him feel better, save your love.
“We’ve both made mistakes,” you finally say gently. “But I love you, and I’ve forgiven you yours…what would help you to forgive yourself your missteps?”
“To learn from them!” he exclaims, halting in his tracks, ears twitching with frustration. “That young man sleeping in the Tower…he has his own life now. I have…he has…There’s potential for a life unfettered by the chains that I accepted as my fate, for something free and individual, and I…” He looks up to meet your eyes, his own stricken, “I can’t take that from him,” he says, as though tearing the words from his soul, eyes silently pleading with you for understanding.
You close your eyes, take a deep, calming breath, concentrate on the roughness of the bark at your back, the damp forest air on your skin.
“You said you wanted my opinion,” you say, once you’ve composed yourself, proud of how steady your voice turns out. “What is it that you wish to ask of me?” His mouth works as he looks to you and tries to form words, and he ends up having to look away before he can speak.
“I…I want to return with you. But when he wakes…I wish him to live his own life. Would…would that be acceptable?” he whispers, and your mouth falls open in astonishment. This is not what you thought he was leading up to at all, and you fumble with how to respond.
“You…you mean…there would be two of you?”
“Ah, yes…in a manner of speaking,” he answers, swallowing audibly and rubbing at his arms as he does when he’s nervous. Unable to contain yourself any longer, you move forward to take him into your arms, your mind whirling as he holds on to you as though for dear life, his breath puffing gently against your skin.
“I…I’ve always thought of you as him, albeit after a great many more years of life and experience,” you muse, half dazed. “Of course it’s acceptable, if that’s what you need! And, well, he is you, except…” You stop for a moment, attempting to gather your scattered thoughts. “How are you meaning to do this…?” you finally ask, stalling for time.
“I’d be something akin to what the Scions are now, a solidified soul. The Source Tower and the spire of the First remain the same structure regardless of time, so rather than being grounded by a slumbering body, I’ll ground myself with the Tower,” he explains, pulling back a touch to look into your eyes, anxiety and hope clear in his expression. “Obviously, I’ve never done this, but my research leads me to believe it will turn out well.” You reach up to brush your thumbs over freckled cheeks, amazed with his resourcefulness even as your mind races to categorize the implications of what this new plan will mean.
“When he wakes up, he’s…he’s still going to be in love with me, isn’t he?” you murmur, blushing and pensive with realization.
“Y-yes…very much.” You give a breathy exhalation, looking away for a bit to gather yourself.
Oh, how you’d pined after he’d gone, how you’d daydreamed for years of what it would be like to open those gates and see him again, to have him at your side once more to read and sing, to hunt and cook and live. And then, remarkably, most of that had come true upon saving the First, although not quite in the manner you’d imagined. To be offered the chance to see him again as a young man, to do those things that you’d dreamed of without his fate weighing down his every decision…to see the man he would have become had he not struck out on his solitary journey to save you…
When you see that young man again, you’re going to love him. Granted, part of that is unfairly understanding in full the scope of his love for you, the vastness of his potential, his genuine goodness. But another part will be the sparkling affection you still hold for the brave, conflicted, outspoken, eccentric young man he used to be.
“I…I realize this is a lot to take in,” he says quietly as you study the ground. “I don’t expect you to know what to do, not now, and not when it happens, either. To be honest, I don’t know what I’ll feel myself…I just can’t bear to take his life from him.”
“Do you want to share me with him?” you ask slowly, finally looking up to meet his eyes. “I have no idea how it would work, but…I’d be willing to try.” His lips part as he stares at you, eyes wide with wonder at the question, the subsequent tentative offer.
“I don’t particularly want to share you with anyone,” he confesses, reaching up to cup your face, run his thumbs softly over your lips. “But in this case…I believe I could make an exception.”
You thought your nerves would be ashambles when the time to depart finally arrived, but now, standing in the quiet of the Ocular as Y’shtola gracefully reaches out to press elegant fingers to the auracite, watching as her soul is absorbed in a delicate flutter of dazzling blue aether as the other Scions before her, you find yourself calm as still water. Your eyes drift to Thancred, Ryne, and Gaia, the gunbreaker mirroring your soft smile of farewell. His daughter bears up beside him with shining eyes, her head held high, hair strewn with flowers and braided into a complex circlet for the occasion by none other than Feo Ul. Gaia appears disenchanted with being present, but you know she is kind at heart, that she is attending for Ryne’s sake. You nod to them—what you wish to convey has already been said, and no words are necessary now. Your heart is full with so much hope, and no small part of it is that they might have a good, satisfying future ahead of them as the First burgeons into life with newfound opportunity.
Then you turn your eyes to where your Raha is quietly sharing a few private words with his beloved granddaughter, her proud eyes newly crimson, her usual stern expression softened as they share a final embrace. Then he is turning to you, eyes alight, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he approaches you, garbed in simple black trousers and a red tunic with golden trim, his sandals the only remainder of his role as the Crystal Exarch. He reaches out, and you think he means to touch the stone, but his spoken fingers move up to card through the hair framing your face.
“Are you ready?” he whispers, studying you intently for any signs of misgiving.
“Yes,” you breathe, pulling his hand down to brush a reverent kiss over his knuckles. He takes a shaky breath, offers you a brilliant smile as he carefully brings his aether to bear and ties to your humbled soul the final tethers of the enchantment that will allow you to cross the rift as soon as he is absorbed.
“Take care of him, warrior,” Lyna calls across the room, newly reforged staff held steady in her right hand as she regards you with serious eyes and a gentle smile.
“I will,” you answer firmly, and the way he looks at you is so beautiful that you have to hold yourself back from kissing him.
He, however, shows no such restraint, and his lips pressed warm and full against yours is the last sensation you feel before you are drifting across time and space, bearing the most precious cargo you will ever carry.
For a blessing, everything goes precisely as planned. The moment you materialize in Mor Dhona and realize you are alone, you dash through the Rising Stones to the infirmary where your companions lie...and aside from Thancred’s slumbering form find them already awake and alert, Urianger and Y’shtola caught up in an animated conversation with Krile while the twins console a weeping Tataru. Your heart leaps at the sight of them, but still your frantic eyes cast about the room.
Where is he?
You hear hesitant footsteps behind you, and when you turn to give greeting, words fail you.
There he is, all traces of crystallization departed, his radiant smile wobbling as he examines his renewed body, eyes wide as he regards you with wondrous, open relief. You throw yourself into his arms with a cry and he spins you around, both of you laughing with elation. Everyone is watching but neither of you care. Let them see, let the whole world see what you are to one another, that you have crossed time and space to be together.
“I see you managed to keep your clothes, and oh...your hair,” you say shakily as you pull back to look him over, pressing a palm to where the crystal on his cheek used to be. “It’s gone all starlit.” His eyes widen once more, and he looks down to where his braid now flows down just past his shoulders, bright and silvery.
“So it seems,” he says with a shrug and a grin, then pulls you in for another embrace, strong and vibrant.
Your heart has never been so light.
The bells that follow are a whirlwind of catching up, introductions, securing rooms, realigning responsibilities, briefly going over the touchstones of your old lives, settling in. Everyone is tired but no one wants to sleep, and so you are unsurprised when he joins his arm with yours after dinner and gives you a ginger tug backwards as you make to head for the new quarters you will share together. Gods, the thought makes you happy to no end, even though you have a house awaiting your arrival. That your friends have made a place for the both of you in advance of your coming, that no matter where you go, you will be together...it’s heart-warming beyond all belief.
Apparently, however, he’s not quite ready to retire for the night, and you expect you know what he wants as you turn to him with questioning eyes.
“Might we...if you’re not overly worn from the day’s events, might we ride out to the Find?” he asks, flicking ears giving away his eagerness. You are, in fact, exhausted in every imaginable way, but looking into his beaming and hopeful face, noting how he’s practically bouncing in place...you could never deny him. You’ve never seen him as openly enthusiastic and happy as he’s been today, and if going to the Find is what he wants, you’ll pull through to see more of that smile.
And so you head with him for the stables, and in short order you are mounted on the handsome obsidian bird gifted you by Haurchefant, while he borrows the loyal traveling companion who has been with you nearly since you first stepped foot into your role as the Warrior of Light. You ride side by side, the wind whipping through your hair, the Tower drawing ever nearer on the horizon giving rise to such a jumble of emotions within that you cannot decide how you feel. When you look to him, his gaze is also on the horizon, but his expression is calm, his chin lifted with pride and defiance. That’s what freedom looks like, you think to yourself, and set your troubled thoughts aside.
Given that it is well after dinner when you arrive, the camp is rather subdued, and you wonder if perhaps it there would be a more rousing welcome if the two of you return on the morrow instead.
“No, Rammbroes will be up with his evening coffee, I daresay,” he says, swinging down out of the saddle with practiced grace. You marvel at how he strides through the camp as though it he owns the expedition, but when his steps falter as you reach the central tent, it suddenly strikes you how much of his pitched energy today is born of nerves, and perhaps not entirely knowing what to do with himself. You rest a hand on the small of his back, and when he looks to you with the first traces of apprehension you’ve seen in him today, you offer a reassuring smile and open the tent flap yourself.
Sure enough, the gentle roegadyn is sat at his usual spot at the creaky old camp table, sipping at a foul brew dark enough to melt the sugar spoon and poring over a faded tome. He starts as he registers your presence.
“What in hells are you doing here, this time of night?” he asks, snapping his tome shut with surprise. When you grin and step aside to reveal G’raha Tia standing shyly behind you, the expression on the researcher’s face is priceless.
At some point in all of the talking and reminiscing you fall asleep, although you don’t realize you’ve done so until you’re mildly shaken awake and find your cheek plastered to the rough wood of the table surface.
“Come now, my love, they’ve prepared a tent for us…we can stay here for the night,” he whispers as you groggily sit up and register your surroundings, fairly certain you snored and probably drooled a little on the table. Well, it is late, you figure, and eyeing the clock you see it’s a bell past midnight.
You’d thought your first night together might be quite romantic, but it’s all you can do to stumble alongside him to your modest sleeping arrangements. Once inside you give your face a cursory wash in a bowl of tepid water someone has kindly provided, and are fast asleep before he has even fully settled in beside you.
Sometime in the night a subtle change in the atmosphere wakes you, and at first you think something is amiss…but when your eyes focus, you realize he is regarding you with a tender, thoughtful expression. He reaches over to brush your hair away from your face, runs gentle fingers along your jawline.
“Forgive me, did I wake you?” he whispers, scooting closer to press your foreheads together.
“I don’t think so,” you answer quietly. “Trouble sleeping?”
“Mm,” he answers. “For all I put my heart and soul into the research, I didn’t suppose…I don’t think I ever truly believed I would be here, like this, with you. I’m afraid I didn’t think through how it might impact me, coming home, coming back to this place.”
You might not be able to fully understand what this must be like for him, but you can certainly appreciate the sentiment.
“How are you?” you ask simply, reaching a hand up to stroke at his ears. He sighs, leaning into the contact.
“Happy, mostly…pray don’t worry, I could not have hoped for a better outcome. There is much to which I must adjust, but at least I knew that would come, if not in what scope or which details.” Your lips quirk at the corners as the beginnings of a purr rumble against your neck, as he nuzzles under your chin, pleased with your ministrations. After a moment he pulls away to intently regard you once more, and as you study him in turn you realize there are lines at the corners of his eyes that were not there before. Some aspect of the rift jump has aged him, although you reason that it may also have something to do with the fact that his soul is representing itself now rather than being filtered through an increasingly crystallized and ponderous physical form.
He breaks into your thoughts with a soft kiss, one hand reverently cupping at your face as he leaves your mouth and feathers smaller kisses up your cheek.
“Can we…?” he breathes against your ear, by now pressed close to your side. You are tired, and not particularly roused, and when you trail your hand down you find he is not in the most charged mood himself. This isn’t about lust, you realize, but grounding reassurance, security in a storm.
Maybe you could use some of that yourself.
Exhausted as you both are, you forgo all but the barest modicum of foreplay, and the act itself is unhurried and peaceful. His weight atop you is affirming, comforting as he moves inside you. It takes a while for either of you to get close, and he has to awkwardly reach a hand between the two of you to help you tip over the edge. That too is gentle and sweet, the soft ripples of afterglow buffering the edges of your worn nerves.
“Well, everything works,” he says with a sleepy grin as you cuddle close, and you both share a chuff of laughter as you finally drift into tranquil slumber, together after unspeakable hardship at the place where you first met all those years ago.