[ Set's angry, hostile little budgie flutters off his shoulder as he tumbles down upon his shower-damp partner, wings fluttering against Shanks's face in protest before it launches itself over to the headboard to glower at the two of them. Set's false arm is warmed from the sun, dark material far less articulate and giving than the flesh of his body, but determined to touch Shanks with readiness. ]

I am.

[ He's always been in conflict: at once elusive and delicate in his words and phrases, diplomatic to the point where people walked away thinking they'd obtained what they wanted, only for him to wriggle out an alternative that served his people's needs moreso. And direct, blunt as a weapon against another's skull.

I am, is true. He's senselessly happy, deliriously content. He feels beloved, after all. The center of someone's world, and that someone is his adoring husband. He lowers his weight across Shanks, sprawling atop him to better push his face against his strong chest — a cat bunting against someone for affection. His robe pools around one elbow, proving his own nakedness below. ]

I have obtained a celebratory gift for you, too. It's too big for these grounds, so will you settle for a preview?