( he would hold him like this for the rest of their natural lives if he could, this close, close to his heart just to ensure he stays just like this; safe, enveloped, kept within the bubble they've made for themselves that nothing else could even think of touching.

something in him goes just a little bit rigid when he says what he does next, when he gives rise to the notion of what he remembers from before he'd woken up here. nai has long since deduced that their timelines are different, that much is true, and he doesn't — he doesn't think —

he sighs out a small note, something that catches just behind his teeth, that one hand still smoothing along the line of his spine. ) There's nothing saying we will. ( but there isn't anything saying they won't, either, and he knows that. )

What if we were to go back with our memories of this place? And how much better we were here?