[ how miraculous it is that a being made only to uphold the era of eternity can turn pink when greeted by what is, at the end of the day, a beast. a pair of creatures not fit for walking among humans-- when he nuzzles into the curve of the puppet's neck, even though he feels no pulse, riddle is still reminded of age-old mating rituals, twining tails, shared plumes of fire; the overwhelming scent of spring, the taste of blood, the satisfying feeling of his back muscles stretching when he spread his wings.

riddle thinks of home. of natlan, yes, but more importantly, of how good it feels to be loved and treasured. to be himself. the hand curled against the back of his neck to hold him closer is grounding, serving only to make this daydreamy happiness even more real. ]

Were you waiting that long? My apologies.

[ his tone is more amused than remorseful. he knows wanderer isn't truly angry or put-upon. ]

I was just so enraptured by the warmth of the forest. I know it isn't like me to take so long rambling about, but you need not worry.

[ and then, riddle draws away, just enough to where he can comfortably move over to rest his forehead against his mate's. that painfully tender, adoring expression on his face remains even as he holds the puppet's gaze. riddle swears he can simultaneously see himself as well as the entirety of the world reflected in those soft, indigo eyes. ]

I'll always come back to you. You're my home, Ren.