. .. IC Contact | Duplicity .. .

[konstant]

                                                                 

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[cryfrustration]

Vrenille's fingers are a bit cold when he takes K's hand, his grip curling softly into his palm, letting the warmth of skin shield against the bite in the air.

"You're here. You dunno how much that matters, just that you're here. I dunno what I'd do if you weren't."

With a gentle tug he follows the hook of their hands in so that they're interlinked between them, a little knot of contact pressed between their chests as he tucks his head under K's chin and just soaks in his presence. Utter trust and no hesitation, a feeling of safety and solace, faith.

"Just be here," it's a murmur, small. How K can help, what he can do--not an action or a service, just him, the person who he is, how much he means in Vrenille's life now.

And then, finally, he looks up at him, finding a smile, sad but genuine, as he nods towards the door inside, "And maybe come have a drink? I think I could use a drink."

[konstant]

It's not that K doesn't feel cold; he does. He has before, of course, in a time and place far from this one and yet far too recently to not think of the last time he stood in snow and ached for someone else.

But his hand over Vrenille's is warm, and though he mostly holds compliantly still - mostly lets the other man do whatever he's going to do, exactly as he's going to do it - he's more than content to thread their fingers together just the same. Careful, so careful, and grateful too when he helps reel the other in as he comes.

"I can do that," he agrees, low, shifting ever so slightly to block the slight wind a bit better. He can do that, can be present, can be here, can make it so Vrenille is not alone with this just here, just now. They still have a ways to go with rebuilding all the bridges between them, but there's more than enough for this.

He does not rush him but stands, one arm lifting around him, fingertips brushing slowly, lightly along his back. And when he speaks again, K simply agrees.

"Of course." They can go inside, and have a drink or two or ten, and K will stay here. K will be here, will be himself.

And, because he does have a small inkling of how much it means to Vrenille - because he can search his eyes, his face, and fill out that answer with what he can read as easily as text - he offers, first, a kiss at least twice as sweet as it is tentative.

[cryfrustration]

He's not expecting the kiss. He wouldn't have ever thought to ask for it with things as they are. But it's offered so purely, so genuinely, this moment and act that K is choosing, not out of some obligation or requisite script, but just as a sign of care, of affection.

It's being unnecessary that makes it so special, and Vrenille tilts his head up letting it be slow and tender and almost chaste, this first kiss since K's been back which makes it, in a way, their first kiss all over again--a little love token that makes his smile when they break a touch less sad, a reminder of what life is still here and how to go on living it.

"C'mon," he says without moving away, and portals them inside.