Laughing brightly at the comment about the nuns, Dysnomia let Morpheus pull her close, tightening her fingers around his just slightly, under the scarf. Let them try, she thought, smiling. Nobody was going to pull them apart. Not ever. She knew she wasn't always around, forgot things, lost track of time. She couldn't help it. It was the way she was and she wasn't going to change that. But in her own strange way, she was always grateful for Dream.
She twirled out, her impossibly tall heels carving curlicues on the worn floor, her bright hair flying, and danced back, nearly falling into Morpheus and wrapping her free arm around his shoulders. Her hand rested on his heart, and she could feel it beating against her skin.
"That look," she said, resting her cheek against his chest, looking up at him with wide eyes. "I gave you that look." She'd taught him a few things. He would've taught her more, if anything had stuck. She rubbed her cheek against his shirt like a cat, the top of her head just barely reaching his chin, even in her stilletos.
"Hey," she murmured into his chest. "I'm glad you're here, okay? Being dead sucks." She had missed him, of course, but she couldn't just come out and say that. It would sound so lame.