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The flame follows Lio's command almost hesitantly, feeble and flickering out after only a few seconds. It's certainly not enough to form his armor, or any weapon, any shield.
It's not enough to protect anyone.
Lio tries again, in his dominant hand, stamping it out with his free palm in frustration when it doesn't roar upwards like he asks. His fingers flex and twitch like foreign appendages. Hot tears burn the corners of his eyes. The Promare are gone; why does this nuisance of a reminder remain? How can he move on when he's more alone than ever?
The front door lock jostles. Lio deftly falls to his side on the couch, throwing a blanket over himself, feigning sleep. His thoughts go quiet, still; he's not ready to share them. He needs more time.
It's enough to fool Galo, who lets out a little 'aww' sound at the sight. Lio wants to burn a hole under the couch and sleep there instead.
Galo opens the fridge, rummages, closes it. He quiets his footsteps, heads toward his own bedroom, and carefully shuts the door behind him. Somehow silence with company feels heavier than being alone. He wants to scream to break it, for fire to envelop him again and express how he feels clearer than any words. The pitiful fire he holds now doesn't allow such a freedom.
His skin still burns hot.
He thinks about the people he's been visiting at the Burnish shelters. They're always bundled in heavy donated coats, children shivering in hand-me-down sweaters. Cold to the touch, teeth chattering. Some of them tell him that they're scared of feeling this way.
"It's for the best," the voice of an elderly woman rings in his memory, "but the fire was a part of us."
All that remains of that tattered history buzzes reluctantly in Lio's hand once more, before he vows to never give it life again.
---
As they'd gazed at the dawn that followed the Second Great World Blaze, Galo had lifted Lio right off the ground and kissed him for real. Maybe it was out of sheer adrenaline, or relief, or a manifestation of uncertainty for the future. Lio didn't know. But Galo had looked so happy, so certain of himself and of everything, that Lio followed that radiant optimism like a moth as the cleanup and rescue operations began.
He wishes that the memory wasn't such a blur.
---
The answer has been in front of him this whole fuck-forsaken time.
It's something in the way Galo's mouth moves that triggers a memory that should be lost to oblivion. It crosses wires that Lio never knew existed, and fuck, his left arm is burning and itching again, pull the sleeve down, no one can see -
As painful as it is, Lio sharpens his focus on that memory. He closes his eyes, lets it wash over him. He remembers the solemn peace of his slowing heartbeat, skin fraying to cinders, the gray of nothingness before a blessed warmth and softness crashes defiantly against him -
Galo has no idea what he's done.
"Lio?" The connection flashes and falls silent like a TV turning off, and Lio startles back to himself, eyes shooting open. Galo's there, towering, ever-present. "Lucia made a new maze for Vinny, I thought you might wanna see it."
Lio chuckles, pushing down the way that Galo's voice rings clear and bright in his ears now like reverb in a cathedral. "What does this have to do with her mech research, again?"
"It's vital for spatial reasoning data!" Lucia calls from her office. "Vinny is a pioneer of mecha AI - "
"Sounds cool," Lio tells him, because it sounds like a good distraction from the way Galo's body heat wraps around him even when he's standing a few feet away and fuck, it's just as he thought...
As the team forms a tight circle around Lucia and the Morris water maze she's just dropped Vinny into, Lio makes a point to stand at the opposite side from Galo, but Galo's not helping, meeting his eyes like this and giggling and grinning like he hasn't already made the gravest mistake of his life.
He can't stop beating himself over the head. How could a month pass without him considering what it meant for Galo to kiss him like that, to return what he'd entrusted? In the blur of that month he'd let himself get far too comfortable, make himself a home on Galo's couch in between shelter visits and press conferences. A danger to himself and his dearest friend. Foolish, foolish.
"Hey," Galo calls, "are you coming home tonight?"
His arm burns again.
---
Lio was able to thrift a couple of long-sleeved shirts from donations to the shelter, but sometimes he wears Galo's hoodie in moments of weakness.
Like tonight, finishing up his proposal for ex-Burnish widespread medical screenings, brain melting out of his ears but still fighting sleep. Galo's there like he always is on nights like this, babbling about whatever soap opera he's letting play, a comforting and non-intrusive counterweight to the spool inside his head.
Sometimes it's non-intrusive but other nights it burns, it aches in his veins, like he can't feel close enough. But it's okay tonight, maybe he can keep the fire from spreading -
"You're really warm," Galo points out, and then the backs of his fingers aren't quite touching Lio's forehead but they couldn't be much closer. The concern in Galo's eyes is gentle. "Are you getting a cold?"
Still can't get those. "I'm good," Lio assures. "Just that the seasons are changing."
---
He's heard stories here and there, about the bonding. Intercommunication between the Burnish hadn't been the easiest or most reliable between the camps and the prisons, but Lio had frequented safehouses where he could convene with his own kind while he was on the run.
Every case has been wildly different.
Some people that have bonded are together and still doing just fine, able to meet his gaze with a hopeful brightness, but those are the rare cases. Sometimes when a couple bonds, one still flickers on the verge of crumbling away to ash, and the other is always huddled over them, desperately warming the other with their flames and wondering what it was all for.
Other times they've been separated along the way. The remaining partner talks about the connection feeling like dead static, dreadfully awaiting the day it would become silent.
A couple of times, a bond has killed both partners. Once, when he tried it himself, he was too late.
Lio wonders, usually staring at whatever ceiling is above him that night, what protocol this bond will follow. Galo was never Burnish; surely he can't turn to ash, yet what else can this faint thread of voices in Lio's head be? The Promare can no longer speak with him, of that he's sure.
There were still no clear words in his signal, but he knows the voice is Galo's; he's far too undisciplined to compose and quiet his own thoughts, Lio is sure. Some days it's a nuisance, but he thinks distantly that it can almost be comforting...
No, what's comforting about a death sentence?
---
"You eat too fast," Galo tells him, around his own mouthful of pizza.
Lio snaps out of another little trance. It's only been a couple of minutes since they settled on the couch but he's already on his way to destroying his third slice of pizza. Maybe he needs to work on that; how unbecoming.
Until, he realizes, Galo has packed away just as much as him.
"Hypocrite," Lio mutters after he swallows, but he manages a grin.
"Hey, I've gotten way better," Galo insists. "When I started at Burning Rescue, Aina was always on my case about it. Said I was gonna get an ulcer and explode."
"So I have Aina to thank for your continued good health," Lio quips.
Galo fits his whole hand around the 2-liter of soda on the table, chugging right from the bottle to Lio's uncomfortable grimace. "That," he says, screwing the cap back on, "and crazy intense working out."
The wave of confidence that Galo's cresting crashes over Lio, emboldens him. "We could try together?"
"Oh, ok!" Galo sets his pizza aside completely as he thinks. "Weight training might not be for you, but cardio is good for endurance..."
Lio leans over to kiss him then, because he's not sure where else to put all of these sparks ready to burst out of his chest. They've kissed a couple more times since the Blaze, and despite the desperate yet ecstatic way Galo would go at it and cling to him like he couldn't believe any of it was real, they'd both end up shy and blushy like pining teenagers. This time, it feels sharper than a normal kiss - a heightened awareness, like feeling two people's feelings at once, the meeting of twin oceans.
It only confirms Lio's deepest fear.
He freezes against Galo's eager return, the buzzing in his head spreading through his every fiber, and he feels like his arm must be glowing now...
"Lio?" The fireworks show in his head fizzles as he catches the concern in Galo's eyes, and Lio shakes his head back and forth to clear it.
"I'm..." Lio sits back, sets a hand across Galo's reaching wrist to reassure him. "I'm okay, just a little dizzy. Lots of work stuff."
Galo's pacified. "That makes sense. You've been pushing yourself really hard. It's important that you don't burn out, y'know."
Burn out. "You're right," Lio agrees, settling in the couch, curling in on himself. "I'll try not to."
"Tell you what," Galo starts, and a ripple of excitement strikes Lio as if from an outside source. "You pick a movie and we'll just chill tonight. I've got the day off tomorrow, so we could stay up late, make some snacks...or just fall asleep. Anything! Sound good?"
It's not a totally unique proposition, but it's true that at least one of them is usually preoccupied with work through the night, or Lio stays at a shelter, so free nights like this still feel novel. Plus, there's something about it being vocalized that makes it feel like everything was meant to lead here.
"Yeah," Lio breathes.
Galo's movie collection is surprisingly eclectic; when it's his turn to pick, he tends to go for superhero films, sometimes kaiju flicks. Lio prefers nonfiction and documentaries, something closer to reality for him to cling to and learn from. Tonight he picks an expose about deep-ocean creatures, which is soothing for him but just seems to make Galo fidget.
"Why do you even have this?" Lio asks, already igniting just sidling up by Galo's arm as they sit together. He curls into himself out of a bad habit, but this time it's against Galo's side, solid and almost unbearably hot. In his head he hears two heartbeats, the pulsing of blood through two circulatory systems.
"Dunno," Galo shrugs. "Think Aina gave it to me way back. Thought I needed more educational stuff to watch."
"A shame it took all this for you to give it a chance," Lio teases.
The night is definitely leaning more to the side of falling asleep before the first movie ends rather than staying up most of the night eating snacks and making out, which is just as well to Lio. They stay pretty quiet - as quiet as Galo can be, always shuffling and adjusting, often commentating the footage with a for real? or so cool!
"This is pretty nice after all," Galo breathes, a ripple through a wave of heat. Lio's eyes are already hooded, cuddling in as close as he can, like he wants to burrow inside. "Never woulda given it a shot without you."
"Idiot," Lio yawns, for lack of better words, and then he's asleep.
--
Blackened silhouettes turn to face him, ashen faces fraying away, glowing eyes piercing with betrayal.
"You were our only hope," they call to him. Lio can hear their voices as one, beating at his eardrums. Raising in volume and anger, they chide him: where were you? why didn't you help us? what will become of us? do you even care?
The flames in the distance roar, not the Promare's beautiful and empowering fire, but a destructive one full of rage, burning red against a sea of gray. A sea of people, some faceless, some Burnish he couldn't save, some that he'd thought were still on his side...
It's just a dream, it's just a dream, it's just...
But then they're approaching with a zombified pace, a skeletal emptiness. Cold brittle fingers are gripping his limbs, pulling him down below the ground. The blinding magma of the earth's core tantalizes him, but he closes his eyes, turns his head from it.
The cacophony quiets, then, replaced by something like a soothing hush. Lio feels a firm but gentle squeeze take the place of accusing, bony appendages, and a glow rises from his own core, the warmth of the embrace even dulling the pull of the core.
The hushing and humming carries no discernable human speech, but the words pass through his dream-brain anyway - "...okay, it's okay, Lio, got you, go to sleep..."
He has no reason not to listen.
--
The living room has long gone silent and dark. Galo's arm is settled heavy around Lio's shoulders, and Lio can just barely make his face out in the moonlight, head tilted back and features relaxed. Totally out.
This is uncharted territory; Galo never falls asleep on the couch like this, always retaining the agency to drag himself back to his bedroom, sometimes leaving a light kiss in Lio's hair when he thinks Lio's asleep. This is new, and it should terrify Lio - maybe it will, in the light of the morning - but for now, he lets himself sink back into Galo's hold.
Just before sleep reclaims Lio, he finds that when his dream-pursuers come for him again - less hungry this time, less confident - he feels the same familiar squeeze. If he strains, he can hear "I'm here, I'm here," but maybe it's just in his head.
--
Lio finds it important to critique his own public image to make sure he's the best representative (scapegoat?) for the ex-Burnish that he can be - sympathetic but not childish, composed but not cold, commandeering but not demanding. Meis and Gueira make supportive advisors, but they're not well versed in public speaking themselves.
It's always Lio that has to find to right words to say, left with no one but himself to answer to, no one to tell him what goes right and what goes wrong.
During his visits to the shelters, Lio does his best to mingle. He plays games and does crafts with the children, and he lends his time and patience if someone just wants to talk for a while. Lio had never developed stellar social skills, so the prospect of dozens-to-hundreds of people a day flocking to him, having long and harrowing conversations that dig at shared emotional traumas would normally make him want to run. But this is important, something only he can do.
Money is another matter - many of the shelters' current resources come from donations within the city, though Lio can't supplement them on his own. He has no fortune, and hasn't taken time for a job amidst his current work - he's considered eventually asking Promepolis for reparations, but he's afraid of being portrayed as greedy.
Not to mention, he's caused enough collateral damage to the city that the outcome is unlikely.
Team Burning Rescue had come together in the beginning to scrounge up a decent sum to go toward the shelter - including Galo, who's been eating almost exclusively ramen noodles and keeping his A/C off ever since. Lio knows his appreciation is felt, but he hopes no one had noticed the tears that had brewed in his eyes.
Since then, he's found it hard to face them all. He hates the weight of unpaid debt, and hates the weight of one that can never really be repaid even more.
--
"You're shittin' me," Gueira says, jaw slacking. He's not angry, more amazed.
"You have to tell him," Meis implores, face more composed but voice laden with intent. His focus remains on the tedium of the cigarette machine.
"No duh," Lio agrees, "but it still makes no sense. He's not Burnish." His brush slips across the skin of his ring finger and he curses. His hands don't shiver the way his ex-generals' do, but their usual steadiness has been dulled lately, making painting his nails a bitch.
"Maybe it has something to do with that big-ass robot you guys did it in," Gueira teases, except he's serious, about some of it at least.
"We did not - " Lio protests, then his brain processes the larger point. He blows gently at the wet polish.
"You both ended up shirtless," Meis offers. "Bears explaining."
Explaining, sure. Lio hadn't really taken the time to dissect the events of that night with anyone, barely even himself. Meis and Gueira deserve those answers, and so many more. It's a weight they should carry together.
But not tonight. For the rest of the night he's thinking about Lio de Galon.
--
They're cleaning up after Lio's first, moderately supervised attempt at a mostly-successful spaghetti - Galo's clearing the table and Lio's washing dishes. And Galo's way too damn close.
Something has distracted Galo - he sees everything on account of being so stupidly tall, and he misses a lot of things but he doesn't miss the skin peeking out from Lio's rolled up left sleeve. Lio feels a question coming before he hears it, but is unprepared for which one.
"Did you get a tattoo?" Galo asks, tilting his head. It takes all of Lio's focus not to make steam rise from the dishwater.
"No," Lio answers, biting back the idiot that wants to escape. It's a fair question, for all Galo knows. He needs to know a lot more, though. Lio tries in vain to distract himself, scrubbing at a spotless plate.
"You shouldn't draw on yourself," Galo coaches. Lio's grateful that he's staying so still; if the distance between them lessened any, he's not sure if he would run away or grab Galo and never let go. "Markers are really bad for your skin, y'know - "
"Galo," Lio starts, tone tamed into something soft and careful. "Can you wait for me in the living room until I'm done? I have to talk to you."
"Oh, sure thing - " Galo stammers. "Is everything okay?"
Yes. No. For me, maybe. But you...us...ugh.
"It's important," is all he manages.
---
Lio runs through a million ways in his head to begin. Most of them involve laying out emotional baggage that neither of them excel at organizing. Some of that is certainly in order, but Lio can think of only one way to stem the awkwardness, to break the answering silence as he enters the living room.
Galo's mostly distracted by the TV as Lio sidles up to him on the couch, tilting his head toward Lio with a finger under his chin, kissing him before he can see Galo's confusion. His sleeves are rolled down, still damp from the sink.
"Huh," Galo hums, "quite a conversation starter." He grabs for the remote and hits mute, attention returning to Lio's mouth, tongue peeking out against his lips as he settles into the rhythm.
"I forgot," Lio interjects, already a little breathless, "that you kissed me before."
But Lio's distraction isn't convincing enough. Galo can feel how stiff Lio's spine is, how his nails dig anxiously into Galo's shoulders. "What's goin' on, little pyro?"
Lio straightens back up, eyes closing to Galo's concern. Maybe the kissing was a bad idea; the elephant is in the room now and it's wreaking havoc in the china shop of his head. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, resetting.
"You remember," Lio begins cautiously as Galo anchors a hand on the outside of his knee, "in the cave. Thyma."
The name seems to pull at a loose, fraying thread in Galo. "Yes," he whispers, solemn.
"When she was..." Lio sighs, turning to settle beside him, gaze distant but a hand resting over Galo's. "When she was dying, I was prepared to bond with her."
Galo's eyebrows crinkle. "Bond?"
Lio's voice goes somewhere far away, mournful yet steady. "Sometimes the Burnish would lend their flames to others, usually in times of great danger or distress. There were plenty of stories of Burnish bonding in prisons, to buy the dying more time."
"That's what you were doing," Galo whispers to the quiet apartment.
Long moments tick by. Galo is dense, but Lio knows that he can put the pieces together.
He watches Galo's eyes widen, his face go pale.
"Wait," he says, "when you gave me your flame..."
"Keep going," Lio coaxes, squeezing his fingers.
"And I saved you, did I...Did we..."
Galo's right there, but he needs a little help, so Lio pulls his left sleeve up all the way. Galo cuts off a choked gasp, eyes trailing the scars wrapped around Lio's skin, matching his own like Lio's flesh had been reconstructed in Galo's image. It's barely there, but there's the faintest glow of the colors of the Promare's flames.
"I only just realized myself," Lio tells him. "But you deserve to know what you got yourself into." Lio sits up on his knees then, gathering the courage to meet Galo's eyes again and hold them. "If we keep spending so much time together, it'll get stronger. You'll feel what I feel, hear what I think - and I, you. Your pain will be mine." He pauses. "If one dies, so does the other."
Lio waits, then, for anything to happen. Galo is just sitting there, slack-jawed, eyes eager but vacant like a puppy, and Lio is suddenly terrified that the burden is too great.
"I'm...sorry that you made that choice, not knowing all that."
Galo surprises him then, as he so often does, just with that warm stupid grin. "I'd make it again, a million times."
Lio was better prepared for fear - for distance, for sleeping on the street - than this. "Huh?"
"I'm not too proud to say I didn't enjoy it," Galo continues easily, "but that's my job, little pyro. I put out fires, and I save people. I was born to do that. If a perk of that job is keeping you here with me...I don't see the problem."
Lio grits his teeth. There's no way that he gets it. He doesn't feel the weight of what they've stumbled under.
"You'll have to try a little harder to get rid of me now," Galo continues, fingertips brushing Lio's scars. "Do they hurt?"
"Burn, sometimes." Lio shrugs, trying to bury the last roots of the dangerous truth. Maybe he knows. Maybe this is just how Galo is. "Do yours?"
"Not in a long time," Galo assures him.
There's a lot to figure out, too much still unsaid, too much to untangle. Yet they drop it at each others' feet and agree that it has to come with time. Lio's fire cools to an ember as he settles into the couch, settles against Galo, settles into feeling safe.
"Were you serious about working out together?" Galo slurs half-asleep, and Lio can barely hear him over the infomercials that they haven't bothered to switch off.
"Bet you could bench press me," Lio teases, and then he's out. He doesn't dream.
---
It's a freak accident.
Lio had offered to make dinner at the shelter today and he's just trying to get the stupid stove to work. He knows there's plenty of gas; he just replaced it last week. It's a deadly cocktail of a force of habit and a learned familiarity that does him in.
As the flame manifests at his fingertips, the din of the kitchen drops to a horrified silence. Lio immediately feels the weight of a hundred pairs of eyes: shock, confusion, and accusation all settling deep in the pit of his gut.
why does he still have the fire? was he hiding it from us? did he take it for himself? were we lied to? why can't we do that?
He has no answers. He has no retaliation. He has only hurried apologies to specific people, and he does his best to keep cooking like nothing had happened.
The children don't smile at him today when he serves them. Their parents don't meet his eyes.
He takes the train as soon as the dishes are put away.
---
Promises made to himself are the hardest to keep.
Lio is far past the point of hiding and burying the flame. He's been at it for probably ten minutes now, ready to let the puny thing burn into ashes for all he cares, leave its host for good and never return. He forces it to burn long enough that it singes the skin of his palm but he barely feels it.
Burn out.
Burn out.
Burn -
"Lio!?" An echo of the bewilderment he'd faced earlier is reflecting in Galo's wide eyes, and Lio stamps the flame right out.
There's no pretending that they don't have to have this discussion right now.
There's no malice in Galo's eyes, and that sets Lio more over the edge. Shouldn't Galo feel betrayed? Lied to? But no, he's slowly making his way to the armchair, hands out like he's approaching a feral cat.
"I don't know - " Lio stammers, in response to no questions. "I don't know why I still - it's not like before!"
"S'okay," Galo insists. He's right in front of Lio now, trying to make himself small but his silhouette still blocks everything beyond him out. Fight or flight sparks hot and anxious across Lio's skin. "You can tell me."
This softness doesn't feel normal, doesn't feel safe. It feels disarming. He can trust the certainty and honesty of someone who's hunting him and wants him dead, but pretty much anyone who's treated him this kindly has turned on him.
"I don't wanna hurt you," Lio says, and maybe it's what he wants to hear - wants to feel - instead. "I can't do this."
"Do what?" Galo asks, so patiently.
"I can't stay," Lio forces out. His fingers are shaking again but his forehead is burning. "You've done so much for me. More than I can ever give back. But you should really just forget I was here."
Galo backs up a few steps, and he looks hurt. Lio hates that he's the one that made his face do that, but at least it lines up with his expectations this time.
The silence grows uncomfortable. Lio wants Galo to yell, get angry, do something, but he just looks lost, wistful. Lio himself sobers a little. Wish I could just keep running. Wish I didn't have anyone to protect.
"Do you really think that?" Galo asks, voice smaller than Lio's ever heard it. He gets the weirdest feeling that the question is directed at his thoughts rather than spoken words.
"I can't burden you forever," Lio says. I can't stay in one place forever. "I'm doing you a favor, really."
Not for you to decide, he hears in his own head, but not in his own voice.
"I don't know where this is coming from," Galo begins, voice steady and dark but not unkind, "but it has to end here. You've never been a burden to me. I'm confused as hell, about the bond thing, about your fire..." He presses the back of his hand to his forehead. "But we're a team now, okay? You're not alone anymore, you're not hiding. You're home."
Lio dampens. Galo's certainty and positivity cuts through all of his darkest corners again, sweeps all of the cobwebs, leaves no room for second-guessing. It's exactly what he needs and exactly what scares the fuck out of him.
"The Promare are gone," Lio confirms. "I can't hear them anymore. So whatever this is," - a subdued flourish of a flame lights along his fingertips, gone just as quickly - "...it's only mine. I think when you saved me, the flame you gave back...it never left.
"Oh!" Galo brightens, excitement edging out his confusion. "So I kind of...rebuilt you."
Hearing it out loud like that makes everything feel so much simpler than it is. Lio hasn't thought about it that plainly before. "Maybe."
"Hmmm." Galo holds his own chin, eyes far away. "I didn't really mean to. I just really wanted you to pull through."
Lio softens, wishing he'd settled on the couch so they could sit together without too much fuss, but Galo is already making his way there and tentatively beckoning Lio to follow.
So he does.
He can't help but feel molded to fit perfectly against Galo's side, under his arm, but he can't help the question falling from his lips. "Why?"
"Why what?" Galo tightens his arm around Lio's shoulders, face tilting into his hair.
"I know it's your job," Lio establishes, "but why me? How could you trust me, how could you save me after everything I've done?"
Galo goes quiet, his pulse almost irritatingly even, everything about him rock steady, holding fast.
"Galo de Lion," he breathes, and Lio scares himself with the jumping of his own heart. He feels the same rush as before, like he could never keep himself from kissing Galo in this moment even if there were continents between them. Galo reciprocates happily, warm work-roughened fingers framing Lio's jaw, barely touching; Lio's hands squarely set into Galo's broad shoulders, daring to catch one of Galo's thighs between his knees.
Lio wonders, then, if holding back the tidal wave of his emotions is even necessary anymore. He wonders if it's safe now to just let it crash, like Galo does, and if anything breaks, they can pick up the pieces together.
Galo's hands are moving to his back now, thumbs just barely digging into the muscle there, as if asking for permission to carry Lio's tension, and Lio gives into it. The radio waves in his head are speaking now, and if he listens he can see into Galo's mind; listening harder, he finds that he can answer back.
Eventually Lio crumples against him, breathing starting to return to normal, and Galo's already about as still as he ever gets, just barely starting to drift.
"You did well," Lio murmurs after a while, as they're both close to sleep. Maybe he's talking about the CPR, piloting the mech, how he kisses - he lets Galo choose. "Thank you."
--
--
Lio lets the breeze of spring greet his face, senses overloading from taking in his surroundings, but it all feels so inviting. Children on the playground are running and laughing, couples passing by are talking amongst themselves, the sun shining a bit too bright in his eyes but comforting on his skin.
Galo's fingers tighten around his, and the static in his head hums contentedly. The bench is still cold underneath them but the mid-morning sun promises to warm it soon.
"I'm glad we saved the world," Lio says, like he's talking about the weather. "I didn't always want to."
Galo chuckles, and it echoes around in Lio's brain like a bell. "Me too. I won't lie, you had me worried for a minute in the beginning."
Galo starts babbling then - about restaurants he wants to take Lio to, the history of certain buildings and infrastructure. Lio hums along, amazed at where his path has lead him to ever think of anything about Promepolis as beautiful, but through Galo's eyes, he can believe it. It's earlier in the day than Lio likes to be out, but they have plans - they're waiting for Aina, and beyond this and getting coffee, everything feels possible, spontaneous. The sun is past fully risen but it reminds him of their first sunrise together, their first kiss while he was alive, the first moment he thought his life could have room for this kind of freedom.
There's a lot of explaining left, an impossible list of tasks still heaped on his plate, an unknowable future beyond the afternoon. But when Lio tips his head back, breathes in deep, the future feels malleable, within his grasp. He squeezes Galo's hand back, and hears a hymn blooming in his head. He's home.