Chapter Text
Perfection. Something sought after by many, found by none. In frustration, the fragile denizens of the universe branded it a falsification, a pipe dream created by weak souls who wanted more than possible, who foolishly squinted into the hidden cracks of the cosmos to find something that might make existence easier. You had laughed along too, in the mockery of these dreamers. Impossible, you knew smugly. You, with your intimate knowledge of the stars and space, settled for games and bloodshed, for those brought you pleasure. They were much more satisfying then hoping for something better could ever be.
But nothing comes without patience. And finally, after the yawning gaps of eons had danced by, perfection had been found by your own undeserving self.
Perfection lays in the secret curve of his lips. It resides in the rich, dark voice that spins silver tales. It shows itself on the rise and fall of his breastbone when he finally drops into sleep. You hope he has good dreams, despite everything. After all, the one who brought perfection into your life deserves nothing else.