Plume’s heart does not clench with fear when he kisses her.
It does not bruise with his worry that this will be over soon—that this is just a brief moment in time and he is to hold onto it with all of the strength that he has. Instead, he is buoyed by it. He is strengthened by the thought that this is temporary, and he find that he relishes each moment with her more. Each moment where he can explore the new curves and angles of her. Where he can relearn this new body of hers.
Because it doesn’t matter.
Underneath it all, she is still the same—she is still his Agetta.
“I have always loved you,” he whispers into the tangles of her mane, pressing the truth of it into the latch of her throat and then the curve of her jaw. “I will always love you,” he promises because it is easy to promise the things that you know are as certain as the sun and the moon—the endless time before him.
She presses into him and he gladly holds her close. Gladly feels the warmth of her seep into him and he wonders if he will ever feel this again—if his body will ever adjust to the feel of the sun on his back and the heat of her. He has spent so long being cold, after all. Spent so long with the chill of it in his bones.
“I have,” and there’s something like a mischievous sparkle in his eye. Something like joy as he tips his head back and flares his wings just a little before settling them over his back again. “It felt so good to know that I still can. To feel that alive.” He brings his head back down to study her and his gentle eyes warm as he takes her in. “But I never feel more alive than I do when I’m with you.”
PLUME
but my heart, it don’t beat, it don’t beat the way it used to