I know. [ He agrees, but there's a level of sentiment to his own voice that says it's not casual at all. He's still smiling but it's gone softer at the edges, less blindly pleased and more intimate, in a way. Measured. It means more, he thinks. That's how it feels anyway as he folds his hands on Cayde's chest and pillows his chin there, something warm and way-too-real making itself a home beneath his ribcage. ] Still coulda brought soup.
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