Eryn let his head rest gently against the padded wall as Azariah spoke. The jostle of the road made their shoulders occasionally bump, but it was not unwelcome. His warmth bled quietly through layers of silk and lace.

The time for pretending was over, but how far could Eryn allow this facade to continue?

His gaze, half-lidded with fatigue, turned to Azariah when he spoke of his father. The pain in his voice wasn’t loud—it was barely a whisper in the shape of words. But Eryn knew the shape of grief worn like armor. The grief you weren't allowed to show. His fingers tightened faintly around his husband’s, their clasped hands still resting between them.

[color=#93E9BE]“I know,”[/color] he said at last, quiet. His hand remained laced with Azariah’s, fingers brushing the faintest, thoughtful rhythm across his knuckles. [color=#93E9BE]“He [i]will[/i] be free, however it must happen, I will be there to support you.”[/color] There was no judgment in his tone, only a certain stillness, the kind that came from someone who had already wrestled with his own ghosts and come out hollowed but resolute. Eryn had long since stopped believing in clean victories.

When the other shifted the conversation to something lighter, he allowed the change. Not because he needed the reprieve—though perhaps hhe did—but because Azariah did. He turned his face toward the window for a moment, letting the image of a seaside celebration take shape in his mind.

[color=#93E9BE]“The sea sounds nice,”[/color] Eryndor murmured, the edge of a smile playing at his lips.

He paused, then added, [color=#93E9BE]“If it were up to my family, I’d be wedded in silence and sent off like a well-packaged export. So..no, I wouldn’t expect many Luneveres to show. But I wouldn’t mind one or two friendly faces, if they exist.”[/color] His voice was light, but the flicker of bitterness was undeniable.

When he bumped his shoulder, Eryndor looked back at him—amused, a little wary. [color=#93E9BE]“Loud and vibrant, hm? That sounds like my personal version of hell.”[/color] His grin deepened. [color=#93E9BE]“But I admit, I’m curious. I’d like to see what makes a Nymere celebration different. Just..don’t expect me to sing. Or dance. Or speak to more than five people at a time.”[/color] He nudged him back gently.

At his husband’s teasing, his expression turned indulgent. A rare softness settled over his features as their fingers intertwined again, the simple motion sending a warmth he didn’t care to name fluttering low in his chest. He didn’t pull away.

When he leaned in, whispering, his breath caught for just a second, not out of fear or surprise, but awareness. A flicker of something not quite spoken. His smile curved slowly, lips pressed together as if weighing whether or not to indulge him. [color=#93E9BE]“You?”[/color] Eryndor echoed. [color=#93E9BE]“I imagined you..older, wrinklier.”[/color] An awkward laugh shook his shoulders while a pink dusted his cheeks. [color=#93E9BE]"Not all free-spirited and charismatic."[/color]

Eryn looked at him then, gaze lingering longer than before, searching. [color=#93E9BE]“But I do like the real thing, much better. It takes a weight off my chest knowing I won't have to worry about my husband dying of old age much sooner than intended.”[/color] He pursed his lips for a moment, hesitant on whether or not he should choose his next words carefully. [color=#93E9BE]"And of me? Did I meet your expectations?"[/color]