only when the boreas cabin door latches shut, do his bones find the comfort to lay themselves down. home. it was a strange word that had taken on a whole new light these past few months, especially as he turns towards his moon-eyed lover.
a home, almost lost. lars sighs, equally in both relief and resignation, as he walks up to the other and puts his arms around simon’s waist. “fuckin’ did it,” he mutters. the sensation of solid ground under his feet is a luxury. the cabin’s cold yet strong walls, a relief. and the yellow-and-white gleam in simon’s bright eyes?
something he would have done this death march all over again if he lost it.
“do you remember the time you were pissed at me?” lars asks as a thought on tugs him. “in the woods. after you got me potions. shooting at a tree.” a smile tugs the left corner of his lips. “think i’ve been in love ever since.”
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