The shrine does not flare or crack or announce Frey's arrival in any grand, celestial way; instead, it deepens, like breath drawn low into the lungs of the world itself, the air thickening with warmth and something sweeter, something that curls beneath the skin rather than striking the eye. The frogs go quiet first, then the chimes still as if caught mid-thought, and in that softened hush Frey simply is. Bare skin brushes the heat at Sunjata's back before he'll feel their hands, slow and certain, settling at the base of his neck.
"Mm," they hum, the sound less a word than a vibration, low and pleased and threaded through with something knowingly amused. "That’s a lot of second-guessing for someone who’s usually so good at living in the moment, grey-eyes." Their thumbs press in, finding the tension without searching, coaxing it loose in long, deliberate strokes. Their presence settles into him, a quiet, pervasive warmth that hums along his spine and through his ribs, asking nothing and offering everything all at once.
"Romantic attachments," Frey continues, voice soft at his ear, edged with that familiar purr, "almost always come with pain. Disappointment. Let downs. Death." One shoulder lifts in a small, careless shrug behind him, their hands never pausing their work. "That’s the bargain." Another press of their fingers, deeper this time, drawing a slow breath from his body, whether he intends it or not. "If that isn’t worth the happiness you might find along the way.." they murmur, and there’s no judgement in it, only a simple, unvarnished truth, "then yes. You’re better off without it."
Their hands still for a moment at his shoulders, the warmth of their palms lingering before one drifts upward, threading idly through his hair, both soothing and possessive in their movements. "But it isn’t a choice you only get to make once." Their tone shifts, just slightly, something softer slipping beneath the indulgence. "You’re allowed to think you’ve found something worth risking it all for, and then decide later that you were wrong. Or that it changed. Or that you did." Their fingers comb again, slower now, as if disentangling more than just knots.
"You humans," Frey adds, with a quiet, almost fond sort of exasperation, "are the only ones who think something has to last forever to mean anything at all." Another small shrug, felt more than seen. "Circumstances change. Feelings change. People change." A pause, not empty, but full of the same steady, living warmth that seems to cradle the moment rather than let it fracture. "And that’s okay."
"Mm," they hum, the sound less a word than a vibration, low and pleased and threaded through with something knowingly amused. "That’s a lot of second-guessing for someone who’s usually so good at living in the moment, grey-eyes." Their thumbs press in, finding the tension without searching, coaxing it loose in long, deliberate strokes. Their presence settles into him, a quiet, pervasive warmth that hums along his spine and through his ribs, asking nothing and offering everything all at once.
"Romantic attachments," Frey continues, voice soft at his ear, edged with that familiar purr, "almost always come with pain. Disappointment. Let downs. Death." One shoulder lifts in a small, careless shrug behind him, their hands never pausing their work. "That’s the bargain." Another press of their fingers, deeper this time, drawing a slow breath from his body, whether he intends it or not. "If that isn’t worth the happiness you might find along the way.." they murmur, and there’s no judgement in it, only a simple, unvarnished truth, "then yes. You’re better off without it."
Their hands still for a moment at his shoulders, the warmth of their palms lingering before one drifts upward, threading idly through his hair, both soothing and possessive in their movements. "But it isn’t a choice you only get to make once." Their tone shifts, just slightly, something softer slipping beneath the indulgence. "You’re allowed to think you’ve found something worth risking it all for, and then decide later that you were wrong. Or that it changed. Or that you did." Their fingers comb again, slower now, as if disentangling more than just knots.
"You humans," Frey adds, with a quiet, almost fond sort of exasperation, "are the only ones who think something has to last forever to mean anything at all." Another small shrug, felt more than seen. "Circumstances change. Feelings change. People change." A pause, not empty, but full of the same steady, living warmth that seems to cradle the moment rather than let it fracture. "And that’s okay."
