[It doesn't matter how cold or slimy she is. What does matter is that she's alive and here.
The texture of mucous is nothing to the rhythmic rise and fall against his face. No matter how minute, it's more than the stillness with which he grew up. The part of him that hadn't known the affectionate touch of another being for years thrills from the tingling cool, and his smile widens as he settles against the numerous sheets and pillows on the bed.
Mithra isn't conscious, but his heart knows. When this person is here, regardless of whether or not she laughs at him for bizarre reasons, he's a little less lonely.]
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The texture of mucous is nothing to the rhythmic rise and fall against his face. No matter how minute, it's more than the stillness with which he grew up. The part of him that hadn't known the affectionate touch of another being for years thrills from the tingling cool, and his smile widens as he settles against the numerous sheets and pillows on the bed.
Mithra isn't conscious, but his heart knows. When this person is here, regardless of whether or not she laughs at him for bizarre reasons, he's a little less lonely.]