Phil kneels next to Techno’s body. His hands tangle in his cape as he pulls the cooling body closer to himself, wanting preserve just a little heat - a little chance that this might all be a terrible dream. His feathered wings drag in the dirt but he barely pays it any mind. The trembling trill he’s been vocalizing grows in desperation until he is cawing to the empty heavens, begging for his husband to respond, to get back up. Techno always responds to his calls. He comes running at the first sign of distress, hand on his sword and deep purr rumbling in his chest. The body in his arms lies still and cold. Mourning cries echo through the night sky long after the sun has set.


























