It feels... a bit too easy to fall into the old habit of the Baron.
Which is kinda silly to think because you and he were never anything more than casual acquintences at parties you always felt like you never belonged in despite your rank and service record putting you well above a number of the other attendees. You and he hadn’t had anything, hadn’t been anything, he would just... stick himself in your sphere sometimes, decked out in the most awful and disgusting pieces of skull finery and somehow still make it look like the most attractive thing in the room, and he would, talk to you, make you laugh surprised and startle like a nervous gielding whenever he made black passes at you.
It’d been... nice in it’s own way. Something to look forward and ground himself in instead of his own head at the functions. Relaxing, soothing, comfortable.
What he was doing now... felt like that just a bit, more.
The two of you forcing each other back into your spheres of existence with no care for finesses or propiety or whatever the heck they probably should have because no that stuff only got in the way of a good thing and you hated the idea of missing out on something for something so silly as ‘it probably isn’t the best idea to court pitch with the clown’. Like you’d ever cared about when things weren’t the best idea.
Because this? This was nice.
It’d been sweeps since your last quadrant partner...
You’d missed being able to just spend time with someone you gave a damn about and since you had no better option than the clown then you uh, you guessed you just had to make due didn’t you?
It was a good thing the clown at least knew how to make a good pile you supposed, at least he could do that right and yeah, you’re probably gonna get swarmed by the little clownlings again once you wake up but that’s fine too. The Wriggler’s are adorable and you love them, you’re perfectly content to let them climb all over you like they were still grubs discovering what they could and could not cling too and you could handle them swinging off your horns with the patience born of working with the most stubborn of superiors.
For now though, you press closer to the cold troll you’re dozing against, your head tucked under his own as you let your wings stretch and move without restraint, letting the aching muscle of them keep you just on this side of conscious enough to be aware of your surroundings and the fact that the clown’s making those deep purring bleats in his chest cavity, which was something you were going to tease him about later, after you were done being contented with his stupid grin anf way-too-clever hands.
You think... you think that it’s ok to let yourself have this bit of familiar in this new place. You think it’s fine to let yourself admit that you were homesick in ways you couldn’t quite describe. You think that that’s fine.
You also think... that you’re going to let yourself keep this a while. It’s... a nice habit to have fallen back into.