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[hierophany]

(I dreamed a fire pit and a funeral last I slept)

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[starmark]

[This part is familiar. He's tired out and boneless, his cheek burrowed into the depths of a pillow while waves of sleepiness wash over him, coaxing and tempting him to let go of his focus and drift away to dream. He's wet and his curls are damp with sweat, and his skin is still echoing with the touch of fingers grasping him, moving him, holding him. He doesn't want Kakyoin to move, but this is the part where he does, so he can accept it if it happens. Maybe it'll happen. But until it does this is a liminal space for the both of them, partway between one phase of the game and another.

This is, in reality, the very dream he'd been tempting Kakyoin with in an illusory sense earlier. This is the midpoint, where it's only them. This is timeless, until the surface tension breaks.]

Yes.

[He would. And even admitting to that, in and of itself, is a flash of will that he isn't supposed to have, but it doesn't matter. Kakyoin's script bent enough to allow a bit of the real him to break free. Jotaro isn't supposed to ever waver from the script of the Rose Bride, but for Kakyoin, he makes the slender exception.]

It would be...nice.

[hierophany]

[ He does, in truth, kind of want to get up. He's planned his evening around the fact that he would. And he's dishevelled and sticky with sweat and Jotaro isn't Tenmei. He can't be imperfect around him.

But the letters never told him to be perfect. The letters never told him to fold his clothes. He decided all of that for himself. He's free to decide not to. He can stay, if he wants. Just a little longer.

Tenmei will be furious. Jealous. Afraid.

He curls his legs around Jotaro's. ]

It would.

[ There'll be another beautiful letter before long, telling him when and who to pass Jotaro on to. But it would be nice. ]