[ Getting these wings back to something like their normal state is going to take time, Greg doesn't doubt that. Several years of neglect can't be overcome in one day, he thinks, especially not by someone like him who doesn't really know what he's doing. At least, not consciously, though he can't deny feeling moved by instincts that he still doesn't understand. It's the same sort of thing that makes his wings so expressive in general, moving them before he even thinks about doing it, as if he's had them for a much longer time than he actually has.
If Gabriel's telling him not to stop, he definitely won't. He'll work his way over the other wing, too, until he's probably literally touched every feather in Gabriel's wings at least briefly, and hovered over those bare patches where new feathers are just starting to emerge. They won't grow in overnight, of course, but they will in time. Greg is going to look after them, after all.
As Gabriel shuffles closer, Greg's arms will slide around him, and unsurprisingly his wings do the same. The white feathers are gentle against those newly preened darker ones, but they will stretch around and curl protectively around them, trying to pull them in close in a way that reminds Greg of that time not so long ago when Gabriel's wings stretched protectively around him. In a strange way, he almost wonders if he has any right to do all of this - he's not an angel, not really, right? He can probably be forgiven a bit of transgression in helping to heal what is broken, at least. Maybe he can't really be blamed for trying to shield those patched wings for as long as he can, regardless of what he is. Or isn't.
He lets his temple rest very lightly against Gabriel's cheek for a moment, a gesture that's affectionate rather than trying to lean on him. He does smile at the questions, amused as he actually thinks about it. It's probably not as exciting as Gabriel might have hoped, but he really had so little time off, generally. Sure, he'd manage a vacation now and then, but outside of that... ]
Usually? Laundry. Buying groceries. Cleaning up around the flat and working on the garden. Sometimes I'd even get out to a pub and manage to catch an entire game of rugby before my phone started going off.
[ 'Work' encompassed so much of his life, even more so after his last divorce. He didn't quite realise exactly how much so until he died, and suddenly he didn't have a job anymore. ]
That happened a lot, too. It's felt kind of strange, to be honest, that I haven't woken up in the middle of the night to my phone ringing in so long.
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Date: 2016-08-06 12:09 am (UTC)If Gabriel's telling him not to stop, he definitely won't. He'll work his way over the other wing, too, until he's probably literally touched every feather in Gabriel's wings at least briefly, and hovered over those bare patches where new feathers are just starting to emerge. They won't grow in overnight, of course, but they will in time. Greg is going to look after them, after all.
As Gabriel shuffles closer, Greg's arms will slide around him, and unsurprisingly his wings do the same. The white feathers are gentle against those newly preened darker ones, but they will stretch around and curl protectively around them, trying to pull them in close in a way that reminds Greg of that time not so long ago when Gabriel's wings stretched protectively around him. In a strange way, he almost wonders if he has any right to do all of this - he's not an angel, not really, right? He can probably be forgiven a bit of transgression in helping to heal what is broken, at least. Maybe he can't really be blamed for trying to shield those patched wings for as long as he can, regardless of what he is. Or isn't.
He lets his temple rest very lightly against Gabriel's cheek for a moment, a gesture that's affectionate rather than trying to lean on him. He does smile at the questions, amused as he actually thinks about it. It's probably not as exciting as Gabriel might have hoped, but he really had so little time off, generally. Sure, he'd manage a vacation now and then, but outside of that... ]
Usually? Laundry. Buying groceries. Cleaning up around the flat and working on the garden. Sometimes I'd even get out to a pub and manage to catch an entire game of rugby before my phone started going off.
[ 'Work' encompassed so much of his life, even more so after his last divorce. He didn't quite realise exactly how much so until he died, and suddenly he didn't have a job anymore. ]
That happened a lot, too. It's felt kind of strange, to be honest, that I haven't woken up in the middle of the night to my phone ringing in so long.