I CLOSE MY EYES AND I FIND YOU
The air was cold this high up in the clouds. Even Aion, who styled himself as frost incarnate, whose lungs were coated in ice and whose steps left icicles in his wake - even he could admit to being uncomfortably chilly at this altitude.
But he would gladly weather the cold in exchange for flying.
A laugh bubbles up inside of him, reckless and unbidden, but it’s stolen by the air rushing past the second it breaks out. One stroke of his wings, then two, then three, and Aion is racing the wind itself, feeling for all the world like a hurricane might: wild, unstoppable, free.
Finally whole.
His world finally feels right - he has a home, his mate, his wings, and there’s nothing more that he can imagine wanting or needing. With time the feeling would surely pass, and he would succumb to the curse of humanity and find something new to want and wish for. But today he was at peace - and what a strange, exhilarating feeling it was.
The landscape changes underneath him faster than he can imagine: the meadow gives way to forest, the forest is split in half by a river, then follows a stretch of plains and sparse trees, and eventually the soil gives way to sand that rolls and shifts with the wind. ’I remember this place.’ The half-forgotten memory comes slowly to the forefront of his mind in bits and pieces, its puzzle pieces slipping into place one at a time. He had looked for Eros here without success, had made a note of which places he’d thought most likely to find him at - and when he hadn’t found him there, had swore he would bring him one day.
Instinct makes him angle his wings, slowing his speed until he drifts in lazy circles back down to earth. He can feel his heart racing inside of his chest, beating against his ribs in a wild bid to escape. But the closer he gets to the ground the more it slows, evening out into a beat that’s almost-normal.
For a second he’s unsure - the ground still seems so far away, and it’s been so long since he’s flown that he’s unsure if his legs will even work when he hits the ground - but then he takes the plunge.
It’s awkward at best and painful to watch, the impact jolting his body and sending the feathered stallion to his knees. For a second he stays there, his wings fanned out to either side of him, trembling and breathless and happier than he’s been in months, years, perhaps ever.
Only when he sees her standing there does he think to feel abashed, the blood rushing to his face in embarrassment (thankfully he’s already flushed from his flight.)
He stands, brushing the dirt from his chest and legs. The pool of water is still a ways off, and for a minute he lets himself believe that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t see his fall from the sky. With an air of false nonchalance, he walks the remaining meters to the oasis to drink from the same muddy shore as her, stealing a glance when he thinks she might not be looking.
walk. "talk."
