[ in the room that isn’t a room (the memory that isn’t a memory), he feels armand give into his hold — into the moment they’ve built together. armand’s affection floods through every point of taction, into the very floor and air in the room. the fabric of its unreality ripples with it.
where he might normally hear the voices rise below them or a whisper from the darkest corner of the space, there’s only armand’s breath — an affectation? a habit? — and the gentle thrum of the record. ]
Outside. [ agreed warmly, against armand’s lips. trying to steal one last kiss for the road. ]
[ but for once, he feels assured. no doubt in his mind that armand will come find him and stay and be happier for it. it rings too clear, too true. all around him. so his answer comes, suffused with gratitude and appreciation. i know. ]
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where he might normally hear the voices rise below them or a whisper from the darkest corner of the space, there’s only armand’s breath — an affectation? a habit? — and the gentle thrum of the record. ]
Outside. [ agreed warmly, against armand’s lips. trying to steal one last kiss for the road. ]
[ but for once, he feels assured. no doubt in his mind that armand will come find him and stay and be happier for it. it rings too clear, too true. all around him. so his answer comes, suffused with gratitude and appreciation. i know. ]