That's good. I'd have missed you too, if I lost you suddenly.
[ he'd have come to find him, regardless of where he was. he's sure he'd have crossed through into amani— broken into the simulation; crashed headlong through the divider and managed to get back to him. kabru tips his head against the backrest, meeting mithrun's eyes with a different kind of look. it's gentler— and look, kabru's often gentle when it comes to mithrun; he still treats him like he's something that has to be helped. but there has always been something beneath that, hasn't there— all along. it wasn't necessary to touch him quite so often. to act with that kind of intimacy.
this is a new look.
it's not the first, but the first to this incarnation of mithrun, without his memories. sometimes, their hands will touch on the balustrade in the castle's gardens, and he'll find mithrun looking back. it's one of those looks with a lot of names— a thousand languages have the means of describing it, because it's very old. even kabru himself isn't sure what it means here, and now— he's just pleased to be back with mithrun, to have the elf at his side. his gaze flits over the familiar face; from the crosshatch of dark lashes to the slight sag of that missing eye. he wonders why he hasn't followed this through to its inevitable conclusion— to lean closer, to nudge their mouths together. maybe he was waiting for the right second; an instance that would make sense. sunsets, sunrises— his head is full of backdrops that marcille would approve of.
why he leans in now, he's entirely unsure.
maybe it's because they've found each other here, again, despite the forces that have moved against them. to survive the dungeon, to survive this, and then to be together and be whole and safe— it's worth a kiss, isn't it? if anything is, it's that.
there's a careful tilt of kabru's head, and he tips his head close, lips parting. it's just an initial brush— mithrun's lower lip between his, and he parts from him with a quiet, but satisfying click.
tongue wetting his lip, kabru's gaze flicks upwards, meets mithrun's. he stays close, and finds that he's curled his hand in the fabric of the jacket, fingers circling mithrun's side. ]
I owed you that. I should have done it when you took my hand at the banquet, after we won.
[ might have. gotten quite a reaction out of the canaries.
no subject
[ he'd have come to find him, regardless of where he was. he's sure he'd have crossed through into amani— broken into the simulation; crashed headlong through the divider and managed to get back to him. kabru tips his head against the backrest, meeting mithrun's eyes with a different kind of look. it's gentler— and look, kabru's often gentle when it comes to mithrun; he still treats him like he's something that has to be helped. but there has always been something beneath that, hasn't there— all along. it wasn't necessary to touch him quite so often. to act with that kind of intimacy.
this is a new look.
it's not the first, but the first to this incarnation of mithrun, without his memories. sometimes, their hands will touch on the balustrade in the castle's gardens, and he'll find mithrun looking back. it's one of those looks with a lot of names— a thousand languages have the means of describing it, because it's very old. even kabru himself isn't sure what it means here, and now— he's just pleased to be back with mithrun, to have the elf at his side. his gaze flits over the familiar face; from the crosshatch of dark lashes to the slight sag of that missing eye. he wonders why he hasn't followed this through to its inevitable conclusion— to lean closer, to nudge their mouths together. maybe he was waiting for the right second; an instance that would make sense. sunsets, sunrises— his head is full of backdrops that marcille would approve of.
why he leans in now, he's entirely unsure.
maybe it's because they've found each other here, again, despite the forces that have moved against them. to survive the dungeon, to survive this, and then to be together and be whole and safe— it's worth a kiss, isn't it? if anything is, it's that.
there's a careful tilt of kabru's head, and he tips his head close, lips parting. it's just an initial brush— mithrun's lower lip between his, and he parts from him with a quiet, but satisfying click.
tongue wetting his lip, kabru's gaze flicks upwards, meets mithrun's. he stays close, and finds that he's curled his hand in the fabric of the jacket, fingers circling mithrun's side. ]
I owed you that. I should have done it when you took my hand at the banquet, after we won.
[ might have. gotten quite a reaction out of the canaries.
kabru smiles, nose wrinkling. ]