trade this heavy cage of bones for flight

DEIMOS

ache first, but then let the cuts close
spit out the blood

Unbothered by the soused depictions, he drew his own towel around his hips and followed along, the contentment and ease of her answer enough to keep him beelining for other sanctions and refuges. He snorted as he spied the other clothing they’d parted with on their way towards the tub some time before, picking up the collection as he meandered through – comfortable in the wake of what they’d created. Through all the hardships and strife and war, they were still here, and that was enough for the instant. While living in the present hadn’t always been effortless, these pinpointed segments were, and he’d snag them for all they were worth.

Wet hair clinging to the back of his neck and indifferent to its cause, the Sword strolled through the shared confines, assured by the familiar wakes, beelining for bureaus. Snagging at boxers and sweatpants and not much else, he eventually took the towel off, playfully tempting to wind it at her but only half-heartedly, more of a playful threat than anything else. Maneuvering closer as a tease and taunt, his mouth moved, ghosted, over her cheek. “I am going to find Zuriel,” who was probably lurking out back or in another room, waiting with her pride intact; stomach growling to follow. “And maybe a snack.” A pause, while he drifted off along the doorway, contemplating things, furrowing his brow, a change in aspects. "Then...do you want to hear what happened?"

watch your body pull itself back together
then let your soul do the same