Tuktu Weir confessions of a sociopath

it figures trajan also expects the worse: delight doesn't think you can become a sharp-lined soldier like that without understanding tragedy, probably. he does confide a tentative optimism in the yearling, who glances at him, faintly hopeful, in time to catch the gentle bump of his nose. it's all too familial and his chest burns at the feeling. he looks away again."..yeah." 

the soldier compliments his choice and the androgyne flicks his ears, embarrassed and pleased. "i know," he says, ever unable to properly accept praise despite how much he craves it. trajan goes on to not only call him out but call him cute and he splutters, falling over himself to protest: "i know, and it's not!"