When he grazed a hand through hair dark enough to be mistaken for black, Adam was not surprised much at the familiar feel of dried blood now frozen to the other’s skull. When one throws themself off a building, their appearance tends to be the least of their worries. He ignored the blood and continued to brush through his hair with his fingernails, making a small sound when another tongue met with his.

Even with eyes closed, Adam managed to pick up Gabriel’s hand that still lay in the snow, and positioned it on his hip, then taking his own hand, and mirroring the gesture on Gabriel’s hip.

From there, he pulled the other immortal man closer to him, and in the slowest of movements, began drifting away from the ledge, hoping to bring the other along with him. The further away from the edge, the better for the both of them. That small bit of concrete now meant something symbolic, it was the beginning of an endless cycle of dying, reviving, and repeating. Distance would put a stop to the cycle, but Adam would put an end to it.