There’s a peace in this. Whatever tumult tossed them out of their lives into this place, there is peace here. He’s danced with people before; there was Maeve, and Ossie before that, and even further back there was Henry, the two of them deciding to show off in a little number for an entire restaurant of people. And before him was Rita, and before her was so many Punxsutawney people.

This is feels more like those earliest ones. No madness and no magic and no desperation choking everything he does. Just two people in a small town, dancing.

Phil has seen too much, he knows. He’s half bird. He’ll never be normal again. But Hawkeye, who leaps between ideas and emotions like locusts in a field, makes him feel sane. He values that far more than he values his safety.

“Anyone ever tell you that you have a really nice baritone?” he hums when Hawk reaches the song’s end. His Mantle is cool and gentle, a fine summer evening's wind. “I could probably listen to you sing all day.”