ringéd hands come up to cover their mate’s, twining fingers with his. eyes slip shut, only to press foreheads together and flutter lashes together. it feels unreal — having their mate back home.
" missed you, missed you. happy. "
“my song’s chord, my adrian. . .”
responding with equal affections, palms affixed to cup svelte jaw —— digits tenderly brushing ‘gainst flesh. sometimes, it still doesn’t feel quite 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙, to have adrian in his grasp again.