Alecto tucks his feet in against him, curling against his husband. He is slowly peeling an apple in his hand with a small paring knife (the tip of the handle baring the semblance of a small, silver seal), the shiny red skin spiraling slowly down in a thin ribbon into his lap. So many years on land (no longer trapped, but willingly living), and Alecto has found a unique liking to certain fruits he once wrinkled his nose at.

Gingerly, he slices a single crescent of the apple and offers it to Joshua and together they eat it, chatting gently, kissing here and there, tasting each other and the sticky sweets and sours of the fruit between them.

"Thank you for sitting the children through those lessons," he says, leaning his head against Joshua's shoulder. "Your patience is truly commendable, darling." A warm chuckle as he thinks back to Daphne, stubbornly wiping her frustrated tears, needing a solid hour to figure out how to correctly spell her own name in a sentence with consistency.