Thread:ThisIsXenon/@comment-34147452-20190802011425/@comment-32273133-20191013010846

Micah—subconsciously—thought the same thing. This world was perfect, suspended in time and space. It was quiet. It was calm. It was safe. And Damian—his rock, his stabiliser, the one whose kisses he could not get enough of—was here too. Nothing outside mattered. Nothing mattered at all, except for air. Air. Which he needed, but the alternative [passing out in Damian’s arms] didn’t seem all that bad....