There wasn't any of Phoenix's usual repertoire in this kiss: the grinning, the restless little movements, the breaks to catch half-breaths and quip, the wrestling for some intangible upper hand. The motions were subtler, fingertips firm to his scalp and elbow pinning him closer. The easiness came by degrees, in the same way that walking and seeing had done, and it was only when he leaned back again what seemed like minutes later, breathing quietly against the yielding silence, that he remembered how relaxation even felt.

He hummed a quiet, satisfied noise, turning his face up under the edge of Miles' jaw and kissing a spare bit of neck lightly. "You're not all bad at the comforting thing," he murmured, smiling a little despite himself.