Stitch-changing. It was a grim task but someone had to do it.
The problem was that Kurloz refused to do it himself. His constant cycle of beating himself up over the entire reason his mouth was stitched for made him adamant against ever changing them himself. If it weren't for her, then Kurloz would never change them, and that would never do. No matter how old the pierced holes were, they'd still be vulnerable if the threads weren't replaced occasionally. True, every week was a bit much, but either way it was safety first, right?
Today happens to be that day of misfortune for the Makara, as he perched on the windowsill of the hive only slightly, propped up against it in a mockery of a humans coolkid pose. No troll would demean themselves to stand like that, but it was a casual pose if anything, and with the windowsills edge being a backsore, it was definitely more comfortable. But the main reason for the posture was down to Meulin having cornered him like this. Cornered was the wrong word - he could escape either way and get a good head start, perhaps. But he remained where he was, just so he could spend time with Meulin and so it wouldn't feel forced, or uncomfortable, or... or..
Guilty.
Meulin does the more sensible thing in taking him by the skeletal-gloved hand and towing him in the direction of the trees, picking her way through the grass and plants and swerving the trees just so she could locate a suitable stump or a smooth enough tree that had fallen for them to sit on. Sometimes she knew the way to map out where one was, but with the constantly changing environment, nothing stayed pristine forever. Especially when it came to their session mates. And Kurloz followed, barely even moving despite all the swerving and being able to keep up with Meulins smaller steps with his own strides.
Finding a stump took a lot less time than usual - again, the environment was changing so it wasn't a surprise to find trees gone or fallen. Meulin makes the movement to twirl Kurloz towards it and in return he raises his arm for her to almost spin daintily. Its ridiculous and she bursts out laughing in response to it, but she can't hear it. He can, though, and it quirks up his lips even more into a smile.
But as business goes, things did become very formal from there on out. Or so they usually did. Kurloz settles on the stump and Meulin perches herself on one of his knees just so she can uncapchalogue her 'EMERGENCY STITCH REPURRLACEMENT KIT'. Ever since the first failed attempt, shes brought it with her everywhere. That being, the first attempt where she tried to make ammends with cotton and ended up splitting his lip even more from how thin it was. No hands go up in protest when she retrieves a small pair of scissors and goes about lightly pulling a stitch forward to unsnip it. Kurloz has to wait until all of them are cut before he can remove the string from inside his mouth.
But something is different this time. Meulin isn't keeping quiet and focused. Shes humming to herself. And to him.
Its a song he remembers well - a small tune, easily loopable but still gentle enough to even hush out the environment around them. A short melody that hes heard so many times before its almost clockwork for him to hang onto every note and just know what the next one will be.
Meulin remains focused even when shes humming, so while she continues snipping threads, he moves a hand from where it had been resting at his side to her jaw, resting his palm against her cheek and arching his thumb upwards in a pattern to constantly stroke it against her cheekbone, brushing away the hair that fell over his hand. She stops them, mid-tune, looking not at the stitches now but at him instead, and then its back to what you both know too well now. Silence.
Kurloz makes motion to reach his other hand up to quickly remove the now-cut threads from his mouth, and Meulin automatically reaches up afterwards to begin daintily threading the new thread through each of the holes. Never criss-crossed. That hurt even more than the stitches did normally. All the while, he simply holds her face, both with his hand, his eyes, and his heart. And she knows it, because as soon as she is done finishing his stitches, she loops both arms around his neck and pulls herself in closer, head tilted against his shoulder and cheek pressed to his collarbone. The hand he had been cradling her face with drifts up to stroke through the tangled masses of obsidian hair, still feeling the tangled softness even while wearing gloves. She holds him as though she'll never let him go, and he in turn wraps his other hand around her to pull her closer to him. Pull her closer to his heart.
She looks up a bit more at him, underneath her fringe that has dropped down over her face a little, and he turns his head enough to rest his lips to her forehead in the softest manner anyone could manage. Its automatic that theres a distinct purr coming from her - a trait of hers that was one of the most adorable things he had ever heard. No worrying about the subjuggulator-alternate of himself here, no worrying about being tied with his own threads to Gamzee, to the mirthful lord of time. Just him and Meulin, and thats how he'd always wanted it to be. Around them, in the silence of the trees, there is no movement, no tresspassing on this moment of simple beauty. The simple feeling of pity that still coursed through them for one another, and the pain that came with it in knowing that it would never be the same as it once was. But they were still there, still together, and with every stitch that threaded his lips, it threaded him closer to her heart.
And still.
Silence.