"One of your many," he agrees, and lapses into quiet.

Cullen's chest rises and falls beneath his head. He's feeling -- present again. Back in his own body, constrained by its boundaries. It's like remembering the existence of each limb after nearly losing them all in battle: there, one arm bunched a little awkwardly under himself as he keeps the other around Cullen; there, both legs touching his husband's. Here, the sound of birdsong. There, the scent of fresh air.

He breathes. In. Out. The coin shifts on its chain: another boundary.





"All right," he whispers at last, and begins the slow work of untangling himself from Cullen.