-Private Threads- [pluviosa]

[nightmareofdivinity]

For threads that don't go anywhere else.

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[nightmareofdivinity]

He takes some deep breaths, curling into the other. He can be... vulnerable. He can be weak with Sunday. It's okay, and it's not a statement on his strength or pride. It's just... being able to be weak. Being able to be here for the halovian and not have to be formal or careful or... anything but himself.

Even if he's not sure what 'he' is outside of his purpose.

"I doth feel the same. I doth be here for thee, in whatever manner I canst be of assistance." The wash of emotion has left him... tired. He reaches over to grab the sheet and pull it up around the two of them. A small gesture, but one that allows them to share the warmth of each other more easily.

"We shouldst both rest. It hath been an... emotional conversation for the both of us."

[harmoniousconsecration]

Sunday allows the other man to curl up against him, letting him have that quiet moment. Intimacy, closeness. Vulnerability. Sunday smiles, pressing a kiss to Fou-Lu's forehead. He feels. Comfortable like this. Without a need to put up walls or barriers between himself and anyone else, not having to hold himself with such care. He could simply... be.

Fou-Lu pulls a sheet over them, suggesting that they rest. Sunday feels that he agrees, it had been. A difficult comversation. Not a bad one. Not something negative, but. It had been emotional, even draining. He can feel the exhaustion in his face, his chest, heavy.

It had also been the first time he'd well and truly opened up to another, in quite some time. The first time in a long time, in which he had laid out all of himself, his sins, on display for another to examine... Sunday was a man that acted on behalf of his aeon, who had accepted confessions of wayward, fearful souls who only wished for understanding, forgiveness. He was a symbol. He was an older brother. It was improper of him to impose his problems on a sister so far away.

Where, and with who, could he lay his burdens down? His love for all people, his pessimism, his distrust, his fear?

"Let's rest, then. I think we both need it." Sunday's arm drapes over Fou-Lu, gentle, not wishing to make him feel trapped. Wanting only to hold him. Wondering if the other man had been held in this way before. A few solid moments pass, before he adds, voice hushed, "Thank you. For hearing me. For trying to understand."

Here. He could lay it here.