the baffled king composing hallelujah
He doesn't care where he is or why - it still feels strange to fall asleep without Remi. But sometimes needs must, and grieving alone lets him feel as inky black and stale as he wants to without having to worry about anyone else looking at it and seeing it for what it is. (It's ugly and it's raw). But even so, when he claws his way back into wakefulness after a dream that is not a dream, it's with a profound sense of longing for his husband.
The sense of loss from Aoife and the anguish at their current situation never goes away, but for the here and now he just wants curls to nose his face into and familiar scars beneath his hands. With a grumble into the already too-warm dawn light, his fingers stretch out into the space where Remi should be, and he huffs out a sigh. "Fuck," he says by way of greeting to the world.
Kamaria. Safrin. The Greatwood. "Fuck," he says again.
The sense of loss from Aoife and the anguish at their current situation never goes away, but for the here and now he just wants curls to nose his face into and familiar scars beneath his hands. With a grumble into the already too-warm dawn light, his fingers stretch out into the space where Remi should be, and he huffs out a sigh. "Fuck," he says by way of greeting to the world.
Kamaria. Safrin. The Greatwood. "Fuck," he says again.
