He sneezes at the itch of green grass edging its way under his coat like the rough of an offending tag.
“How long have we known each other?” His murmur appeals to the blue sky above before coming back down and settling into the countryside of the hill for a short nap of sorts, along with the rest of him.
He looks at that above, as always, finding golden sparks of lady’s eyes instead of stars, and blue whorls of fingers that brush his cheek instead of empty space that doesn’t. As always.
The sky says nothing.
His fingers touch his bowtie, out of nervous habit. He drops them down again. His back is in the grass. The blue-gold sky is above him. He is safe. They are safe, together and here. All is well.
“You say that I’ve always had you. That you stole me. But how long,” he breathes the words like candles whispering; they flake away from him and move up to Her in little flights of ash, burning holes in the air.
“…how long have You had Me? It had to be torture, awaiting myself-with-the-wander-of-an-idiot for all those sullen years. What did you do for fun, way up on that hill, before I found you, and you decided to take me away from all that?”