lmao pretend i know what i'm doiiinnnggggg

[transcendent]

[ By now, Rubedo should know where to find Albedo if he looks. For the last several weeks he's slept like an angel, enfolded in a warm space built from their shared consciousness and memory. A night of rest outside can stretch out over days in here; the day Albedo finally stirs, his awareness stretches out in the background of Rubedo's senses all muzzy and creaking like he's been out for a year. But it's not enough to just hover there, sharing sight and sound and thought—it's perfect, important and precious, but right now it isn't enough.

As his (their) physical body migrates toward bed, Rubedo knows where to find him. He's waiting already; less anchored to the real world, he has the luxury of drifting between the varying phases of consciousness available to a person. Not long ago he drifted back into awareness and left behind the bed he conjured without meaning to: the broad, sterile white and gray affair he remembers from the Institute, but bigger, plusher, safer. There's been a nagging anxiety inside of him that he knows Rubedo can detect, even if he can't see him just yet. How will he choose to show up, he wonders? The way Albedo knew him in their youth? Or the form gifted to him by Nigredo? Can he sense this anticipation?

Will he feel all the things Albedo feels that he doesn't know how to name? Will he understand?

He's awake and standing in that semi-empty space, hood pooling around the nape of his neck, and when he sees Rubedo for the first time he doesn't actually say anything—he takes a few steps forward, gaze enigmatic but bright.

They've never just been in the same room. Not for years and years and years. Albedo was supposed to die at his hands, alone but free. Now he's almost close enough to touch. ]