Pom freezes when Gale does, realizing all too late that he should have asked, should have considered what happened to him, should have done this, should have done that. Gale is right that Pom holds himself to harsher standards, but that's because he feels he has to. His leash has been far too loose without Purl, and in her absence, he's fallen back into old habits, old patterns.
And old ways of thinking. She'd scold him if she knew he thought he needed to be caged again.
Despite everything that happened to him, Gale doesn't pull away, and Pom is silently grateful, all the more gentle as he continues to help him wash around the tender scar tissue around his shoulders. That puts him well in range for Gale to reach for his glasses, and though Pom flinches reflexively when they're touched, he allows him to take them, reddening at the tops of his long ears and along his cheekbones.
"You say you know that feeling, but then talk like your magic is all you are," he remarks quietly, hoping the steam covers for the feelings he's struggling to rein in. His eyes are as vibrant as ever, though their glow is a little less fiery orange and more warm amber these days, a ring of brown — much like Northly's eyes — now framing the edges. "But that's not the Gale I see... or the one I like. The one I'd have done anything to get back."
Gale wasn't without scars before he arrived in Karteria, but a mage's place
in combat is always at the rear, and he didn't have any major blemishes
other than the orb. That's certainly not true anymore. Pom's kicks to his
legs during their fight at the Valentia, Astarion's bites, his own
mutations and amputations, Patho-Gen's torture ā it has all left its mark.
He watches Pom clean all that gnarled flesh so gently, gentler than he
looks like he'd be able to, and his heart aches fiercely. The owlbear makes
demands that Gale can't fulfill.
"I know you would have. I remember what you said while I was trapped," he
says softly. It's easier to stop pretending he doesn't remember the circus
dream when they're not making eye contact, Pom still focused on his skin.
Pom dips the rag back into the water before picking up one of the bottles, trying to determine if it's a fancy soap, shampoo, or oil from viscosity alone. He's barely got it worked into a lather before Gale brings up the dream; his hands pause, his eyes flicking to Gale's face. For a second, he's pretty sure his heart stops.
Gale sees that hesitancy, but completely misinterprets it's cause, assuming
that Pom is as uncomfortable as he is because they kissed, because Pom is
already spoken for. "Yes, it has all been slowly coming back to me in bits
and pieces," Gale admits, gaze flicking away. "And I am so sorry. It wasn't
fair of me to do that to you, I know. Not when you were there for me, as
you always are, offering me comfort and strength when I had none. I fear I
repaid your kindness poorly, and I'm sorry."
When he was being tortured and maimed by people with absolute control over them, all while locked away where no one could find them. Pom has largely been avoiding talking about the dream for fear of bringing those memories back - it's not right to make Gale relive them, all so he can figure out his own feelings.
Though he resumes carefully scrubbing Gale, his ears dip as he struggles to focus on it.
"I was just... I was happy to see you. Relieved. Angry and frustrated and helpless to do a damn thing about it, but also... like I could breathe again, just knowing you were still there. That you weren't gone. You've got nothing to be sorry about."
"I know and that's..." Pom gently scrubs around the scars left by
Astarion's reptilian bite, and he can feel the tension in Gale's shoulders.
"I thought I wasn't coming back, so I could be excused for my indiscretion.
That's no excuse, though." He turns, making sure he can catch Pom's eyes
when he continues. "It was taking advantage of your friendship, not to
mention Northly. So yes, I am sorry to have done that to you."
Gale seems so guilty, and Pom has yet to parse why; the wizard meets his eyes, and Pom can't help but smile in return as he thinks of Northly, of what she tried to insist to him time and time again, embarrassment coloring him. Though the urge to keep talking about the dream — about what happened in it — is there, he keeps scrubbing, making his way up Gale's other arm as carefully as the first.
"I'd admit I was surprised, but... Northly was convinced you were interested months ago. That we'd already been involved at the Valentia when she heard me Shifting in my room."
This is a lot of disparate information to deal with all at once. "She... Was? And she doesn't care?" Gale says, looking completely agog. "But the two of you are basically married!" Then again, he has spoken to Northly enough about her views on sexuality that when he considers it, it doesn't seem particularly surprising that she would be alright with polyamory.Ā
It's Pom's turn to look utterly lost, his brow knitting as he looks up to meet Gale's eyes again, a nervous smile tugging at him as though to help mask it.
"It's just... I thought she might be jealous, since the two of you are together?" He gesticulates more when he's nervous and embarrassed, and he ends up accidentally splashing Pom. "I mean, there are certainly those where I'm from who have multiple romantic partners at once, and I don't judge them, I'm just not one of them."
He's not usually the sort, but Pom can't help the laugh that escapes him, a single chuckle of utter relief. For months, Northly has been reassuring him that Gale was interested in him; Pom argued Gale wasn't, that his own inability to express himself with any degree of sincerity had pushed the wizard away. It was better they were just friends - Gale needed someone who could be honest with him, who knew what he wanted and how to vocalize it.
As it turns out, Gale might have had a completely unrelated hang up, and they've been talking around one another the entire time. He lifts Gale's hand to his face, pressing his cheek into it. He's not good with words and vulnerability, far more comfortable expressing himself through gestures.
"It's not like that between us. Never has been. We're close, but... not the way I wanted to be with you."
Gale stands frozen, eyes wide, just struggling to work through what he's just been told. "The two of you aren't...?" Pom presses Gale's hand to his face and his fingers brush his jaw. "And you wanted to be with me... Want to be with me?" He takes a step closer. The beast inside him is howling for him to kiss Pom again (and more), but the thinky human half needs to hear it.
Pom has always considered himself a selfish thing. While he sought to provide for Purl in their new lives, he'd convinced himself it was because he needed her - she made him feel useful, whole, like a person. She deserved better than he'd given her, and he would spend the rest of his life making it right. He hadn't needed to consider what he wanted because his wants were hers.
That had been well and good until Karteria, where he's had to learn to survive on his own, to find his own desires and wants while navigating the horror of losing himself. Eventually, it wasn't about just survival anymore, but how he could feel whole again in this strange place as his humanity slipped away bit by bit, pieces of him devoured by his Natural Soul. It became about the connections he'd made with his Imprints, what he could do for them, how they made him feel in turn. He needed to get back to his world — get home — but for the time being... he'd make it. His Imprints would help him survive without her.
But one of them was different. Eventually, he figured out why it was his stomach turned when Gale was near, but no one else. Why Gale could hold his attention for hours doing nothing but reading aloud. Why he started to think of that little house he shared with Gale as home, and looked forward to returning to it each night. Something new took hold in him - not the loss of his other half, or the frustration at his fading sense of identity, but something hot enough to keep his bones warm: ardor.
And there it was, something he'd seen on the outside, had faked a handful of times, but hadn't experienced for himself. A habitual liar like himself wanted a genuine relationship, but had not a singular clue how to get it - how to be authentic enough to deserve it. Could he even be sincere enough to deserve it? Most other relationships in his life have been performative, a transactional play rather than something bound by emotions and heartstrings. It was better that they could only see the mask, that he wasn't himself.
And Gale deserved better. He wanted better. Pom had convinced himself of that, too.
And then came the dream. In his worst moments, thinking the end was near, Gale had chosen to set aside his pain and despair to express how he felt. It was the kind of vulnerability Pom isn't sure he's capable of... but he's desperate to learn, even if the prospect is terrifying. However, with no bars between them, their bodies soothed by the heat of the water and the comfortable thrum of their Imprint, he finds it much easier to try. They're both laid bare, literally and figuratively.
And Gale is still here. Despite knowing what Pom was once upon a time, despite seeing his monstrous shape again and again, despite knowing he will live... he is still here.
"If you don't mind that I'm a mess—"
Pom doesn't finish that sentence, cut off as he leans into Gale, his free hand wrapping around his neck, and steals a kiss for himself.
This time, there are no bars, no wounds, no woe separating them. Ordinarily, Gale would be shy about being naked, hesitant about having this conversation in a hot spring, worried about doing everything the right way, but he has looked his own demise in the eye too many times to be hesitant to go for what he wants now. He surges forward into that kiss with so much force that if Pom's tail wasn't so good for balance, he probably would have knocked them both into the water. He wraps his arms around his middle, almost a hug, desperate to keep him close.
Between the water and his tail, Pom manages to stay upright, though just barely; he returns Gale's embrace as carefully as he can, wrapping his arms around his back, burying his head into his neck when they part for a breath. His heart races not with the adrenaline of a fight or the fear of the unknown, but with beat he finds comfortable, the tempo set by Gale's own pulse drumming against him. He does his best not to let his claws dig into Gale's back, no matter how desperate he is to keep him close.
"I should've told you. I just- I thought I was dreaming at first. Then I thought you'd be better off, not remembering all you went through. That you might change your mind."
"I didn't want to bring it up once I remembered. I thought maybe I'd forced it on you, or you'd changed your mind in the light of day..." They've held each other before, but it's different now. Gale's hands move up and down Pom's back, gentle and exploratory. "I wish you'd told me, or I had told you, before Patho-Gen took me." Before he was broken, needing to be put back together before his edges cut someone.
"For the longest time, I didn't know what to say."
Gale's hands feel good running over his back, through the fur that's grown there over the past several months. He might have scales and ridges down his spine while in Kelesis, but he enjoys the sensation all the same. The water behind him swishes gently — that'd be his tail — as he pulls back just enough to look Gale in the mismatched eyes.
"I didn't know what it was about you that got me so twisted up. Northly had me figured out quick, but I couldn't figure myself out. I just knew I hadn't felt like this before, and that when you started talking about your friends back home..."
He shakes his head, still trying to stifle the ugliness it brought out in him. "I thought you had better waiting for you. That I'd been wrong about how I felt. That I'd read you wrong, and couldn't see what I ought to do, so I just... didn't."
"Oh," Gale says, thinking back through their previous conversations with new perspective. Times where Pom was reticent or awkward, was it because he was struggling through feelings he didn't understand? Gale can certainly understand that, though his answer for such troubles is usually to talk more rather than less. "No, there's no one else... not for a long time, anyway. The only people waiting for me back home are Tara and my mother." Even his friends, well. If time marched on in his absence, then they had bigger worries than a wayward wizard. "I'm glad you figured it out eventually."
"Only because this fella I live with decided to kiss me in a dream."
Not that Pom sounds upset about that, especially not now that he's got Gale in his arms. He struggles to keep his eyes open — even the dimmest light bothers him without his shades these days — but he can still feel Gale's feathers beneath his hands, smell him in the air, sense the rhythm of his pulse through his skin. It's nice - it's nice to be so close, to want someone in a way that's novel and frightening and exciting all at once.
It's also nice to be wanted back, and though the rest of those wants that come with being so vulnerable with someone else rile his nerves... they can deal with them in due time. For now, it's just them.
He seems to remember belatedly that the water isn't getting any warmer. He lets go of Gale to get the tray, pulling it back toward them. "Lemme help you finish up in here. We can talk more when we're out. Pretty sure it'll take a while for all this to dry." Fur and feathers are unfortunately like that, as he's sure Gale knows well by now.
"Of course," Gale says, but doesn't immediately let go. Now that he has
him, it's difficult to believe he'll be able to keep him. That he won't
leave, that Patho-Gen won't take one of them again, that they won't just be
torn apart. It makes him want to hold onto this moment that much tighter,
and his fingers clutch tighter before he's finally able to let go.
"And shouldn't I reciprocate?" He offers. "Do you trust me enough to touch
your hair?"
Pom's hair is always a touchy subject. He doesn't let anyone but himself and Purl wash it - even Northly only gets to touch it on occasion. It takes a lot of dyeing and styling to maintain that signature look of his.
So he's pleasantly surprised when the idea of Gale washing his hair is... enticing.
"Of course," he says, as though he didn't just trust Gale with his past - his hair ought to be no problem by comparison. "There's a lot more of it these days, though if anyone would know, it'd be you. You've been here since the start."
Gale was never the type to fuss with his hair, considering raking it back
out of his eyes or tying it back good enough, but he's always been a little
fascinated with those who take the time to do intricate hairstyles. Getting
to run his fingers through Pom's hair is something he's idly thought about
on several occasions without hope of fulfillment. Now, he dives in without
hesitation, first wetting Pom's mane with cupped handle of water and then
getting the shampoo. He scrubs his fingers through Pom's hair, mindful of
his claws, and a little smile flits across his face.
While he's used to the feeling of Purl's paws running through his hair to help him wash it, having the hands of another human being — as close as they are these days, anyway — scrubbing his scalp is an entirely new sensation. At first, it's just good - Pom closes his eyes, leaning into Gale's touch, not minding the claws whatsoever.
Twenty seconds in, and he feels his tail swishing behind him, making waves in the water; another fifteen, and he's forced to sit on the bench built into the side of the basin, his legs threatening to give out from under him as he loses himself in the sensation. His neck cranes one way, then the other, begging for more contact as he sinks into the water up past his shoulders.
As he sits, his hands beneath the water find their way back to Gale's waist, pulling him closer - onto his lap if he must. Whether it's the bestial behavior of the Soul that is making this experience so euphoric, his own wants and needs, or just the fact it's been so long since someone washed his hair so intimately, he doesn't know - but he wants Gale closer, now.
It only takes a little tug before Gale willingly climbs into his lap. Never
once does he let up, fingertips rubbeing over Pom's scalp, wondering how
far he can press this. He posts attention to those doggy ears as well,
rubbing them with gentle but firm pressure. He's seen dogs kick a leg when
the pets are particularly good ā will Pom do that? If he touches him
elsewhere, what other reactions can he earn? He hums at the thought, but it
comes out sounding more like a low growl.
"Do you want me to keep going? Should we get out?" He pauses his scrubbing
to make sure he has Pom's attention for the question.
With Gale in his lap, it's so easy for Pom to lose himself in the feeling of him being close, of the wizard's hands working around his ears, then the ears themselves. His leg quakes as his tail continues to swirl the water around them; his breath is hot on Gale's skin, his own claws threatening to dig into the wizard's back to keep him close. Pom wasn't aware his ears were so sensitive - he's let Northly rub them on occasion, but never had that sensation mingled so thoroughly with unbridled affection and desire.
But oh, it's the desire itself that Pom suddenly realizes is there, a stranger lingering at the back of his mind, watching. He's used to faking it, to putting on a smile and saying the right things and playing a role - he's not used to it being something authentic, welling in him, filling his veins like a drug. The moment he's aware of it, he hesitates, still pressed against Gale, trying to lose himself in that sensation again.
The feeling is still there, and he doesn't know what to do with it - not if he wants this to be truthful, honest, sincere. Suddenly wracked with indecision, his nerves creep in, making him anxious as he tries to determine what he should do rather than letting instinct work on its own. He doesn't trust his instincts half the time, especially these days when they push him toward aggression, primal ferocity, feral and monstrous behavior. The pause continues as he stiffens, and it quickly becomes a spiral that drags him down, down, past his own wants and into deep-seated doubts ingrained into him from years of pretending to be someone else, someone better.
But is he? Can he be what Gale deserves?
Realizing the silence has stretched too long, he clings harder to Gale, afraid he'll leave before he can put his thoughts together; his claws make divots in Gale's back.
"Sorry, just—" He's not sure what he's apologizing for, and tries again. "I want this. Want you, but... I gotta sort my head out first. I wasn't- made for this."
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And old ways of thinking. She'd scold him if she knew he thought he needed to be caged again.
Despite everything that happened to him, Gale doesn't pull away, and Pom is silently grateful, all the more gentle as he continues to help him wash around the tender scar tissue around his shoulders. That puts him well in range for Gale to reach for his glasses, and though Pom flinches reflexively when they're touched, he allows him to take them, reddening at the tops of his long ears and along his cheekbones.
"You say you know that feeling, but then talk like your magic is all you are," he remarks quietly, hoping the steam covers for the feelings he's struggling to rein in. His eyes are as vibrant as ever, though their glow is a little less fiery orange and more warm amber these days, a ring of brown — much like Northly's eyes — now framing the edges. "But that's not the Gale I see... or the one I like. The one I'd have done anything to get back."
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Gale wasn't without scars before he arrived in Karteria, but a mage's place in combat is always at the rear, and he didn't have any major blemishes other than the orb. That's certainly not true anymore. Pom's kicks to his legs during their fight at the Valentia, Astarion's bites, his own mutations and amputations, Patho-Gen's torture ā it has all left its mark. He watches Pom clean all that gnarled flesh so gently, gentler than he looks like he'd be able to, and his heart aches fiercely. The owlbear makes demands that Gale can't fulfill.
"I know you would have. I remember what you said while I was trapped," he says softly. It's easier to stop pretending he doesn't remember the circus dream when they're not making eye contact, Pom still focused on his skin.
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"You... you do?"
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Gale sees that hesitancy, but completely misinterprets it's cause, assuming that Pom is as uncomfortable as he is because they kissed, because Pom is already spoken for. "Yes, it has all been slowly coming back to me in bits and pieces," Gale admits, gaze flicking away. "And I am so sorry. It wasn't fair of me to do that to you, I know. Not when you were there for me, as you always are, offering me comfort and strength when I had none. I fear I repaid your kindness poorly, and I'm sorry."
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When he was being tortured and maimed by people with absolute control over them, all while locked away where no one could find them. Pom has largely been avoiding talking about the dream for fear of bringing those memories back - it's not right to make Gale relive them, all so he can figure out his own feelings.
Though he resumes carefully scrubbing Gale, his ears dip as he struggles to focus on it.
"I was just... I was happy to see you. Relieved. Angry and frustrated and helpless to do a damn thing about it, but also... like I could breathe again, just knowing you were still there. That you weren't gone. You've got nothing to be sorry about."
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"I know and that's..." Pom gently scrubs around the scars left by Astarion's reptilian bite, and he can feel the tension in Gale's shoulders. "I thought I wasn't coming back, so I could be excused for my indiscretion. That's no excuse, though." He turns, making sure he can catch Pom's eyes when he continues. "It was taking advantage of your friendship, not to mention Northly. So yes, I am sorry to have done that to you."
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"I'd admit I was surprised, but... Northly was convinced you were interested months ago. That we'd already been involved at the Valentia when she heard me Shifting in my room."
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"Wh... what?"
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He's not usually the sort, but Pom can't help the laugh that escapes him, a single chuckle of utter relief. For months, Northly has been reassuring him that Gale was interested in him; Pom argued Gale wasn't, that his own inability to express himself with any degree of sincerity had pushed the wizard away. It was better they were just friends - Gale needed someone who could be honest with him, who knew what he wanted and how to vocalize it.
As it turns out, Gale might have had a completely unrelated hang up, and they've been talking around one another the entire time. He lifts Gale's hand to his face, pressing his cheek into it. He's not good with words and vulnerability, far more comfortable expressing himself through gestures.
"It's not like that between us. Never has been. We're close, but... not the way I wanted to be with you."
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That had been well and good until Karteria, where he's had to learn to survive on his own, to find his own desires and wants while navigating the horror of losing himself. Eventually, it wasn't about just survival anymore, but how he could feel whole again in this strange place as his humanity slipped away bit by bit, pieces of him devoured by his Natural Soul. It became about the connections he'd made with his Imprints, what he could do for them, how they made him feel in turn. He needed to get back to his world — get home — but for the time being... he'd make it. His Imprints would help him survive without her.
But one of them was different. Eventually, he figured out why it was his stomach turned when Gale was near, but no one else. Why Gale could hold his attention for hours doing nothing but reading aloud. Why he started to think of that little house he shared with Gale as home, and looked forward to returning to it each night. Something new took hold in him - not the loss of his other half, or the frustration at his fading sense of identity, but something hot enough to keep his bones warm: ardor.
And there it was, something he'd seen on the outside, had faked a handful of times, but hadn't experienced for himself. A habitual liar like himself wanted a genuine relationship, but had not a singular clue how to get it - how to be authentic enough to deserve it. Could he even be sincere enough to deserve it? Most other relationships in his life have been performative, a transactional play rather than something bound by emotions and heartstrings. It was better that they could only see the mask, that he wasn't himself.
And Gale deserved better. He wanted better. Pom had convinced himself of that, too.
And then came the dream. In his worst moments, thinking the end was near, Gale had chosen to set aside his pain and despair to express how he felt. It was the kind of vulnerability Pom isn't sure he's capable of... but he's desperate to learn, even if the prospect is terrifying. However, with no bars between them, their bodies soothed by the heat of the water and the comfortable thrum of their Imprint, he finds it much easier to try. They're both laid bare, literally and figuratively.
And Gale is still here. Despite knowing what Pom was once upon a time, despite seeing his monstrous shape again and again, despite knowing he will live... he is still here.
"If you don't mind that I'm a mess—"
Pom doesn't finish that sentence, cut off as he leans into Gale, his free hand wrapping around his neck, and steals a kiss for himself.
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"I should've told you. I just- I thought I was dreaming at first. Then I thought you'd be better off, not remembering all you went through. That you might change your mind."
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Gale's hands feel good running over his back, through the fur that's grown there over the past several months. He might have scales and ridges down his spine while in Kelesis, but he enjoys the sensation all the same. The water behind him swishes gently — that'd be his tail — as he pulls back just enough to look Gale in the mismatched eyes.
"I didn't know what it was about you that got me so twisted up. Northly had me figured out quick, but I couldn't figure myself out. I just knew I hadn't felt like this before, and that when you started talking about your friends back home..."
He shakes his head, still trying to stifle the ugliness it brought out in him. "I thought you had better waiting for you. That I'd been wrong about how I felt. That I'd read you wrong, and couldn't see what I ought to do, so I just... didn't."
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Not that Pom sounds upset about that, especially not now that he's got Gale in his arms. He struggles to keep his eyes open — even the dimmest light bothers him without his shades these days — but he can still feel Gale's feathers beneath his hands, smell him in the air, sense the rhythm of his pulse through his skin. It's nice - it's nice to be so close, to want someone in a way that's novel and frightening and exciting all at once.
It's also nice to be wanted back, and though the rest of those wants that come with being so vulnerable with someone else rile his nerves... they can deal with them in due time. For now, it's just them.
He seems to remember belatedly that the water isn't getting any warmer. He lets go of Gale to get the tray, pulling it back toward them. "Lemme help you finish up in here. We can talk more when we're out. Pretty sure it'll take a while for all this to dry." Fur and feathers are unfortunately like that, as he's sure Gale knows well by now.
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"Of course," Gale says, but doesn't immediately let go. Now that he has him, it's difficult to believe he'll be able to keep him. That he won't leave, that Patho-Gen won't take one of them again, that they won't just be torn apart. It makes him want to hold onto this moment that much tighter, and his fingers clutch tighter before he's finally able to let go.
"And shouldn't I reciprocate?" He offers. "Do you trust me enough to touch your hair?"
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So he's pleasantly surprised when the idea of Gale washing his hair is... enticing.
"Of course," he says, as though he didn't just trust Gale with his past - his hair ought to be no problem by comparison. "There's a lot more of it these days, though if anyone would know, it'd be you. You've been here since the start."
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Gale was never the type to fuss with his hair, considering raking it back out of his eyes or tying it back good enough, but he's always been a little fascinated with those who take the time to do intricate hairstyles. Getting to run his fingers through Pom's hair is something he's idly thought about on several occasions without hope of fulfillment. Now, he dives in without hesitation, first wetting Pom's mane with cupped handle of water and then getting the shampoo. He scrubs his fingers through Pom's hair, mindful of his claws, and a little smile flits across his face.
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Twenty seconds in, and he feels his tail swishing behind him, making waves in the water; another fifteen, and he's forced to sit on the bench built into the side of the basin, his legs threatening to give out from under him as he loses himself in the sensation. His neck cranes one way, then the other, begging for more contact as he sinks into the water up past his shoulders.
As he sits, his hands beneath the water find their way back to Gale's waist, pulling him closer - onto his lap if he must. Whether it's the bestial behavior of the Soul that is making this experience so euphoric, his own wants and needs, or just the fact it's been so long since someone washed his hair so intimately, he doesn't know - but he wants Gale closer, now.
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It only takes a little tug before Gale willingly climbs into his lap. Never once does he let up, fingertips rubbeing over Pom's scalp, wondering how far he can press this. He posts attention to those doggy ears as well, rubbing them with gentle but firm pressure. He's seen dogs kick a leg when the pets are particularly good ā will Pom do that? If he touches him elsewhere, what other reactions can he earn? He hums at the thought, but it comes out sounding more like a low growl.
"Do you want me to keep going? Should we get out?" He pauses his scrubbing to make sure he has Pom's attention for the question.
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But oh, it's the desire itself that Pom suddenly realizes is there, a stranger lingering at the back of his mind, watching. He's used to faking it, to putting on a smile and saying the right things and playing a role - he's not used to it being something authentic, welling in him, filling his veins like a drug. The moment he's aware of it, he hesitates, still pressed against Gale, trying to lose himself in that sensation again.
The feeling is still there, and he doesn't know what to do with it - not if he wants this to be truthful, honest, sincere. Suddenly wracked with indecision, his nerves creep in, making him anxious as he tries to determine what he should do rather than letting instinct work on its own. He doesn't trust his instincts half the time, especially these days when they push him toward aggression, primal ferocity, feral and monstrous behavior. The pause continues as he stiffens, and it quickly becomes a spiral that drags him down, down, past his own wants and into deep-seated doubts ingrained into him from years of pretending to be someone else, someone better.
But is he? Can he be what Gale deserves?
Realizing the silence has stretched too long, he clings harder to Gale, afraid he'll leave before he can put his thoughts together; his claws make divots in Gale's back.
"Sorry, just—" He's not sure what he's apologizing for, and tries again. "I want this. Want you, but... I gotta sort my head out first. I wasn't- made for this."
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