averagemedium | [Off-Comm Threads]

[This isn't right. He doesn't know the city he's suddenly shown up in--

Except it feels oddly familiar. He feels like he knows where the streets lead, that there's a particular direction he should be going, and after a few moments the memories start to filter back in. Asgard, it's Asgard, he's lived here before, known people here, has a home here.

A home and a husband. A quick glance at his hand shows no ring (it had been left with his other belongings when he disappeared) but he remembers the band, red gold and silver, and now that he knows it occurs to him that his hand feels a bit naked without it, now.

Ryan doesn't know how long it's been, but he remembers almost instinctively to check the bracelet, pull up Henry's name (wasn't the gem red, though? He's sure it was red) and, not quite daring to assume it's still the same Henry on the other end, sends a tentative question.]

What day is it?

[To be honest, Henry was only intending to be there for a short while. But the cats needed to be checked on, that was important. They were important, for all that he more-or-less ignores the fuzzy bodies threading between his ankles, sniffing at the drops of blood left from the laundry he was carrying to be washed. Or to sit there unattended; it wasn't as if he expected to come back for it.

The hours when he'd first realized Ryan had disappeared were a complete blank. It might've been days; the blood on his skin had been dry and flaking by the time he noticed it, his clothing stiff and cold with it, the bodies he'd left having had time to go limp and rigid and limp again. The mage's thoughts had been distracted, calm, as he rearranged limbs of another native on another god's altar. Hel, was that last one. Appropriate, he guessed.

Henry would have been lying to say there was some purpose in it, even a retroactive one. He didn't expect to get a reply from a message left in corpses, and he wasn't sure what he'd say if a god had turned up.

But he was 'home' now, such as it was, settled tiredly on the couch, absently toying with the ring on his hand- the one he'd gotten Ryan, the one that hadn't disappeared with him. Henry wasn't sure if he regretted that Ryan hadn't taken it with him. It was a reminder; on the other hand, it was a reminder.

At the message beep, he almost ignores it; he'd leave a note for Gerome, there was no one else he wanted to speak to. He'd find his wolf, wait out the war somewhere away from people. It was a sick sort of hope that made him check the message anyway- and even then, he almost misses the name. If it wasn't Ryan, he didn't want to know. But why would anyone write to ask him what day it was?

He blanks out again when he does see it, answering the message on automatic. Not that he knows what day it is either, and not that he gives an actual answer instead of just a spasm of fingers against numbers.]

145684865

[Followed by, a minute later:]

Is it actually you?

It's me, I don't

I... think I was gone for a while. It was a while back home, anyway, I don't know how long it's been here-- is everyone else still here? Do you live in the same place, do you have the cats

do you have my ring?

[His fingers shake slightly while he types, already heading through the streets for their apartment out of pure habit. The lingering damage doesn't go unnoticed, but for all he knows another battle's happened, it's not necessarily the same damage (much as he hopes it is.)]

I don't know I

[Cutting himself off, he didn't want to worry him, didn't want to scare him off somehow, that he'd stop remembering if he said something wrong.]

They're fine, everything's fine, I do

[He needed to see him he needed to be there-]

I'm okay. Are you coming back?

I'm coming back.

...meet you there?

[The feeling's still so strange; the more he thinks about it, the longer he's here... the more it seems like it was just yesterday that he last saw Henry, the more he remembers of his previous stay. It clashes with the memory of being home for the last few years, making him unsure whether it's like he just left or like he hasn't seen his partner in so many months.

He supposes he'll find out when they meet again, his pace quickening as he sets off with a little more determination.[

okay

[And Henry's not moving from that spot, only going through those few messages, checking and double checking that they were there, they were real, he hadn't lost it entirely-]

i'll be here

[He doesn't respond again, just making his way to the apartment-- to home-- as quickly as he can. Seeing Henry is important, he knows, more important than figuring out anything else.

The man who eases the apartment door open is obviously still Ryan, just... not the same Ryan who'd disappeared two days ago. He's older, the more youthful qualities grown out of his face; the glasses are still there, but he looks like he hasn't shaved lately, his chin and jaw a bit scruffier than he'd ever let it get in Asgard. His clothes fit him better-- the baggy sweaters he'd favored don't seem to be in his wardrobe now, replaced with a button-down and sweater vest that are actually his proper size, and his hair's pulled into a loose tail instead of allowed to hang loose and messy. There's still a disheveled air to him, as there always was, but he's at least begun to make an attempt to fix that up.

He closes the door behind him and hesitates there before he takes a cautious step forward, eyes fixed on Henry as though making sure he's really there. It's been so long and it hasn't, the idea of holding him is both recent and familiar yet almost distant, an ache; the way Ryan looks at him with raw and open want isn't anything sexual, only the need to get closer and touch him, but somehow he just can't make his feet move and his breath catches when he opens his mouth to speak. He'd loved him, married him, and forgot. He's been alone the past few years when he had a partner waiting right here who didn't forget him.]

Henry--

[It's choked in his throat, almost forced out. Having him right here is different from the memory.]

--I'm sorry, love.

[As soon as Ryan opens the door, Henry recognizes him- he was different, but so familiar it hurt; distantly, he wondered if this was what it was like to see ghosts. Or at least the ghost of someone loved.

Henry didn't blame Ryan for leaving, and he shakes his head at the words, somehow managing to stand. He didn't really blame anyone, despite his incidental murder spree; disappearance in Asgard was as good as death anywhere else. It happened, whatever anyone did. It was inevitable, a part of life.

He doesn't run towards him; if anything, his steps are hesitant, barely aware of taking them until he's right there, standing in front of Ryan- and from there, he can barely make himself reach up to touch his face (a little rougher around the edges, a little older, the lines settled, but still so uncomfortably familiar).]

It is you... isn't it?

[It's soft, so soft it's barely audible, as if saying anything would dispel the moment, and when he looks up to him, it's more than a little desperate, unstable.]

It is. It's me, I promise.

[The desperation in that look makes him ache, feelings that still seem almost new to him now immediately welling up; he just wants to pull Henry close and hold him, soothe him, fix it, and he doesn't realize that he is until his arms are already wrapped around him tightly, face buried in Henry's hair, eyes watering as he breathes in the scent of him.]

It's me and I remember all of it, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I forgot--

[He cuts off there with a shake of his head and a shakier gasp of breath.]

[He shakes his head again, just clinging to him, unable to reply immediately. It wasn't okay, but it also wasn't Ryan's fault. He knew he wouldn't leave him of his own choice.

The tightness of his grip, the warmth of the face in his hair, the feeling of his breath and body- only then does he start to give into hope, relief flooding through him with a force that nearly suffocates. Henry hadn't wanted to consider the vague possibility that Ryan could return; worrying about his memories on top of that- it was too much.

Only holding him now did he realize what it could've been like, that he could've seen Ryan returned to the world and not remember him at all.]

You remember now--

[He can't finish it, his next breath turning into crying, as he burrows himself against Ryan, body trembling.]

--no, no, don't--

[There's an edge of distress in his voice as he holds him closer, squeezing him gently before he reaches a hand up to try to tilt Henry's chin upward. His lips press repeatedly to the side of his face, his cheek, kissing at the tears with soft brushes of his lips and tongue; it simply feels right to do, and it's only after he's started that he remembers similar gestures in the past.]

I'm here, love, I'm here. It's all right.

[His own voice is choked, tear-tracks marking his own cheeks even as he continues trying to soothe away Henry's. He'd been alone himself, sure, and without the memory of someone left behind. But Henry- he'd been left alone here without that same small mercy.]

[The touches were soothing, familiar, and Henry presses into them with a low noise; it ached, the idea that this- that it could've been over, that he wouldn't feel it again.

But the crying eventually switches to a sort of laughter, and if it's a little hysterical, it's nonetheless genuine. The past few days had been a shock, there'd been no time to even try adjusting- and now Ryan was back, he hadn't lost everything.

From trailing over his face, his lips finally find his, deepening the kiss, as his hand shifts to touch his face, wanting to reassure, and be reassured. His fingers brush at the dampness on his cheeks, his murmur muffled by the kiss but unwilling to break it.

It was alright. Everything was alright now.]

[Ryan returns that kiss eagerly, almost desperately; it's a little ungainly, those few years spent alone and without practice taking a bit of the usual ease out of it, but it's no less fervent for the lack of technique. And the more Ryan kisses him, the easier it is to slip back into the memories of being here before that keep returning to him, tongue twining against his with more of the easy familiarity he'd been used to.

His hands settle on either side of Henry's face, fingers brushing into his hair and holding him there, pleased sounds stifled into Henry's mouth.]

[It was strange, the brief feeling of having more experience- or at least, a more recent familiarity. But technique was the last thing to occur to him, not when he had the taste of him at his lips, tongue lapping eagerly against his, encouraging more of the same.

He'd be breathing him in if he was remembering to breathe; the growing dizziness is the only realization that he wasn't. Even then, he can't leave his mouth entirely, hand slipping into Ryan's hair and holding on, as if trying to kiss himself unconscious from sheer intent.]

[Ryan's at a similar point, lightheaded with the lack of air but reluctant to let their mouths separate; he wants all of the contact he can get, wants that reassurance he's not alone, wants the comfort of it after all the events of the last years. He'd kiss himself unconscious if his body would let him, but he eventually can't help jerking back slightly with a desperate gasp for breath, chest heaving slightly as that first breath leads to several more quick ones.

He does his best not to go far, though, immediately leaning close again and resting his head on Henry's shoulder as he regains his breath, fingers twining tightly into his hair and idly tugging at it.]

[There would be a protesting sound if he had the air to make one, but he settles for just pressing tighter, breath shallow and fast as he's finally forced to resume it.

His arms wrap tightly around Ryan's waist then, as he feels the fingers in his hair, the weight on his shoulder. Even with the added space to breathe, he remains a little lightheaded from the relief of his presence, no less needy for having him there again. A minute later he manages to murmur.]

--How long has it been?

...few years.

[It's a quiet murmur, the admission a reluctant one. This isn't what he wants to think about. He just wants to keep holding on, keep kissing him, give in to distraction before he has to sit down and start getting his head sorted out.

Ryan clings back just as tightly, still resting against him, fingertips starting to rub slow circles on Henry's scalp.]

[Years. Henry kisses the side of his neck instead of replying, a slow nuzzle along the length of it, reaffirming his presence by degrees.

And he doesn't push for more of an explanation, pulling Ryan instead, back towards the couch. His hands slip underneath his shirt in the process, pulling at it until he can slide his arms underneath, up against skin. Later he'd be curious about what had happened to him; for now, it was enough to have Ryan there, where he could touch him and be touched.]

[Ryan reluctantly lets go long enough to pull off his vest and shirt-- the attention is good, but better-fitting tops restrict it more than he'd like. He wants the feel of those hands against his skin, the warmth of him pressed there.

Without clothing in the way, it's immediately obvious that aging a little hasn't been the only change; his wrist tattoos now curl up to cover more space in an unfamiliar script, lines of it wrapping around each forearm, and on the opposite arm from the Tower there's now a matching Death card. There are more on his back as well, even if Henry can't see them just yet- a line of what look to be runic symbols in blood red ink trail down his back, directly over the spine, and the white raven is now standing on a black book. It has a counterpart as well, a black raven perched on a white skull now occupying his other shoulderblade.

Most noticeably, though, there's another mark on his chest that doesn't seem to be ink. It's centered on roughly the same level as his heart, an irregular black spot perhaps a couple inches across. If there weren't solid skin there, it might look like a hole, and each vein that touches that spot is visibly colored black up to a couple inches away from its edge.

He isn't thinking about the fact that he looks different, now, and there's no pause after discarding his shirt to let Henry see. That's the furthest thing from his mind, when he could be clinging to him once more instead.]

[It's only grudgingly that he lets go long enough to let him remove those clothes, and though he was about to follow suit himself, Henry's distracted by the different sight of Ryan's chest. It was only a brief glimpse, but when Ryan moves against him again, he hesitates, curious- even a little concerned. He wasn't acting hurt, yet...

Henry pushes back then, to look more closely, hands tracing from his shoulders, down his chest to his waist, and back up again to that black spot, wanting to touch it.

When his eyes flicker back up to Ryan's face, there's a question in it, but he doesn't say anything.]

[He leaves his hands on Henry while he's busy exploring his chest, resting them on his partner's waist and then shifting them out of the way when those hands on him stray lower. It's hard to relinquish that contact when he just wants to stay close, but Ryan doesn't discourage him, standing patiently for now.

That silent, questioning look gets a nod from him, though, an attempt at a reassuring smile; Ryan doesn't quite manage, the corners of his mouth only turning up slightly, but there's at least no real tension in his expression.]

Go ahead. [It's a soft murmur, eyes still on Henry's face rather than his hands.] It's not gonna hurt.

What is it?

[It certainly didn't look like any scar he'd encountered, or even an injury exactly, and he rubs his thumb over the area before leaning in, brushing his lips over it.

It wasn't as though Henry minded at all; Ryan could've come back horribly scarred and his only thought would be a desire to hurt anyone who'd done it.]

[The touch makes him shiver, mostly out of the expectation it'll still feel just as strange-- the sensation of normal, firm skin being touched does feel a bit odd, but a better sort of weird than it was at home. Ryan sighs quietly at the brush of lips against it, fingers combing through Henry's hair.]

...a hole. Was one, anyway, I... guess coming here fixed it. [He shrugs one shoulder, a little confusion slipping into his tone. Sure, the place straightens a lot of things out, but it was still unexpected.]

Did someone gouge out a thing?

[It's mumbled against the skin, though Henry uses the chance to nuzzle upward, pausing to run his tongue along his collarbone.

His hands find Ryan's sides again, scratching lightly down to his waist and holding on.]

No. More like-- something got out.

[His fingers tangle more tightly into Henry's hair, other arm wrapping around his shoulders; it's all comforting, the nearness and affection make it a little easier to think about home.]

...long story short, it turns out I can do more than I thought, and-- that other things can do more with me. I'm sort of like a door. A point of crossover for them.

[He hesitates, letting out a slow breath before he adds, quieter:] And something finally noticed. Forced its way through.

[Off-Comm Threads]

d436, canon update return

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