[ he looks at mithrun now with a slip of something more like pity— the desperation, the lick of silver about those irises; like the most sudden appearance of a crescent moon. how to tell mithrun that he didn't lose that last desire, that it stayed— because demons don't die, they just stop existing. there was no end to it; and kabru wasn't sure if it faded, wasn't sure if mithrun simply hid it— or if, specifically, the elf concealed it from kabru, above others. mithrun's story ends as well as it could, and he's sure that this mithrun, the mithrun of several months ago, must wish for a better outcome than was gifted to him.

he has kabru. he has something like a purpose, but— he does not have peace. kabru's all too aware of it; he'd spoken him through that terrible day— where he'd seemed like a dead thing, slumped against a tree. and mithrun had cried to him, after that, and he'd known that there was some hope.

idly, he reaches over, nudges the back of his fingers to the backs of mithrun's, eyes on the elf's scarred hand. ]

It's gone, yeah. We won. The plan worked. [ a nod. it's better than destruction though, isn't it? he extends a forefinger, running it along mithrun's. ] I think you're happy, actually. Happier than now, maybe.

[ home is still home, after all. there's a huff of a breath from kabru, and he finally meets mithrun's eyes again. ]

You're getting pretty into cooking, in my time. Obviously I benefit. [ obviously. his smile warms further, and kabru looks at mithrun fondly. ]

I hope we can get back there.