They'll play cards for a while, Drake will kick his ass, and when morning comes around, they'll both be better. It was a bad dream. A bad fucking nightmare that was somehow more than that, but it's done. Ephemera digs out the cards and is ready to get them out and start shuffling when Drake takes his hand.

It's not like before.

And--

Let it be simple, Ephemera tells himself. Just let it be simple for a minute and don't think. He sets the cards down leans against Drake, closes his eyes and just breathes. It's easy, suddenly, to put his head against Drake's chest and listen for his heartbeat. The slowness of it doesn't scare him anymore.

They're holding hands, he thinks. It ought to be ridiculous and somehow isn't.