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Zasp sighed contentedly.
Warmth and softness surrounded him. For once, none of his joints hurt. None of his muscles ached. For the first time in years, his stomach felt right and full without being uncomfortably full.
He was well fed and not suffering for it.
He was warm and not about to be chased out of that warmth.
His face was buried in heavenly, soft fluff that smelled like sugar and cinnamon.
The love of his life was petting the back of his head and neck, and thumbing the base of his wings and the seams of his shell. She was humming softly. A smile lingered behind every note as her chest rose and fell with melodic breaths. His own breathing slowed to match the soothing pace of her melody with another content, happy sigh.
Mothiva chuckled softly, the sound chiming pleasantly against his antennae like so many little golden bells.
“Comfortable?”
“Mmmm, very. Soft….”
Another beautiful laugh, a fond pat at the top of his head, and a soft sigh of her own.
“About time, I think.”
So much lay wrapped in her statement, tucked deep within the recesses of his memory.
Nothing but memories.
Mothiva traced one of those memories along his left arm, following the scar from his fingertips to his shoulder.
A more recent memory, that one. But not too recent. Certainly not the worst of them.
Some part of him felt lighter, as she traced it. Reassured. Safe. Loved.
It told him so silently that his scars were no curse, that his hurt would be healed here. That even with every tear his life had left in him, she would wait for him and put him back together with needle and thread.
It was not a side of her many were privileged to see.
A tiny part of him swelled with warmth, knowing that he was so lucky to witness it this closely, this frequently, this intimately.
Her other hand had wandered to a different scar along his back, following the rough line of thicker shell down to his waist. Her hand settled there, and a soft purr rumbled out of him.
Scar after scar, retraced by the warmth of her hands. Every trail left a gentle warmth that slowly, sweetly unraveled the tight spool of hurt bound up in his chest.
Tears came, at one point, but not of fear. No cold shudder disturbed them, no cries of terror, no paralyzing flashes of dark memory. Only gentle trails of pure, warm love.
The evening passed them by quietly, and soon night saw the both of them curled together tightly, fighting the urge to drift off.
The comfort persisted and Zasp found his eyes heavier than usual. Mothiva was humming again, but she too was beginning to flag, and soon began to snore softly.
Slumber claimed him a few minutes later, deep and almost dreamless, save for faint glimmers full of undiluted happiness.