"...what would it take to put them back?" For a moment the ambiguous statement hung in the air, twined and ephemeral, the sillage almost visible between them. She could mean a great many things. The spirits, the ragged bits they'd ripped out of one another, the wings, anything. She was just about prepared to continue the thought when he pulled his wings back- and it was just another wall. Another line of defense.

For all that Twila had curled in her mind, selfish and chaotic and so very persuasive- Loki hadn't been entirely wrong. He was, she did, and she was so very tired of wanting and not having. Derek's wings withdrew, hers snapped forward. Even if she'd wanted to write it off as nothing, it'd been instinctive. A desire to continue that contact, to bring back that currant.

"I'm far more fond of you for your not being perfect."