Big Salmon Lake wake up, sleepyhead, it's happening without you

Anxiety gnaws at him as he follows @The Wayfarer's trail, though he tries to ignore it. It's normal for Firestorm to wander a bit, he tells himself. Usually not for this long, though. His heart picks up as the scent grows fresher, mingling with the smell of blood — and then he spots him in the distance. Firestorm! He calls, tail starting to sway as relief floods him. His approach quickens the moment he recognizes his friend, impatience rising in him. He's missed him more than he thought he did.

The aches he deals with in stride. Each wound a normalcy to the boy who's fought the majority of his days away. And yet, he finds himself frustrated. Annoyance grips him as his wrist refuses to cooperate. The injury to his pawpad shook him off his groove.
He flops. It isn't comfortable. There is a restless itch to his feet that can't seem to be satisfied lately. He twists his paw up, beginning to groom it when he hears quickened footfalls approaching.
Whoever he expects, it isn't Ghost. Fur spikes along his neck and down his spine. A strange sensation builds from within his chest, strangling his breath. Champagne eyes rest on the silver coywolf.
What.

The greeting he receives is not what he expects at all. Shock halts his approach, and his ears flatten as he watches the hair raise along Firestorm's spine. You've been gone, He finds himself saying stupidly in a voice that somehow sounds smaller than usual. I missed you. So I followed. Why are you looking at me like that? He wants to add, but he's too nervous about the answer, so he doesn't.

Ghost halts. The gap between them kept and it's enough for the shield to remain strong. A hollow chuckle rumbles in his chest.
Miss me? Out of every joke he's heard lately, that ones got to be the funniest. Just like the windwalker, he plays the role of second. Or maybe in Ghost's case, it's more a solid fourth or third.
He's mad; he's tired; he's breaking underneath it all.
You've others to fuck with. Go bother them. He goes back to cleaning his paw.

His heart drops into his stomach as Firestorm speaks, and all he can do for a moment is stare at him with wide, wounded eyes. Later, he'll tell himself that he should have seen this coming, that his friend has always been rough around the edges, so it was bound to happen. But right here, right now, Firestorm is the last person he expects this from.
What — His voice falters and he swallows hard. He tries to think of something he can say, anything to mend whatever rift has suddenly opened between them, though he doesn't know what caused it. Firestorm hadn't seemed to have a problem before. But I like you. You're not like the others, you're better than them. In his panic, he hardly realizes what he's confessing. All he can think about is fixing the situation.

He grits his teeth, chewing away at the blood sodden fur between his toes. The distraction keeps him grounded, gives him somewhere else to look other than the wounded look upon Ghost's face.
The feeling settles in his chest, creeping forth to consume it gradually now that it's made a home there. It's like the nights he spends awake replaying windwalker's death in his head over and over. The stars used to be his only company then.
Through the panicked ramble, he ends up staring at Ghost again. He doesn't get why Ghost looks like he's struggling against a water's current, nor does he understand these false attempts to grapple onto him of all people.
Liar, he snaps. Bet you had a fun time. The whole place reeked.

It's almost worse when Firestorm looks at him again. And then he's snapping, and Zephyr's vision is blurring, and it all clicks the moment the word reeked cuts into the air. The remnants of his guilt and shame wash over him immediately, along with a fresh wave for good measure. And of course, the self-hatred. His chest constricts, and suddenly he isn't sure what he's saying anymore.
I'm sorry, I didn't know, I didn't mean to — He sucks in a breath too sharply, leaving him lightheaded in an instant. He tries to speak again, but he can't — and he finds he doesn't have the words anyway.

There is no curb to his tongue as he lashes out his anger—his hurt. In the end, he inflicts hurt in a way he isn’t used to. Looking at Ghost is a mistake, to see tears form and gush down his cheeks as the dam breaks makes him want to crumble, too. He doesn’t get how so many are able to cry openly—as if it is an alright thing to do.
Apologies are tossed his way, and he finds no fight left in him anymore. He’s said his piece and made it dangerously clear how disapproving he is— No one’s named the feeling—jealousy—before in this sort of situation. He simmers. A deep breath is exhaled through his nose, and he remains silent.

Weak. The thought slices through the haze as he belatedly registers his own tears, and his jaw tightens. No doubt his friend is disgusted by his weakness. His gaze drops, and he lets the silence stretch between them as he struggles to gain control over his emotions. It's several minutes before he feels calm enough to look up.
The moment he does, he feels breathless again. He takes a slow step forward, then another, and then he's closing the distance between them. He lowers himself as he draws near, first crouching, then crawling the last few inches as he settles directly in front of Firestorm. His head rests between his paws, ears folded and tail tucked as he looks up at his friend imploringly. He wants to speak, or to reach out, but he can't bring himself to do it; the risk of rejection is too much for him to deal with right now.

A quiet stretch settles between them. The distance is all the more apparent when neither are barking words at the other—or rather, Firestorm snapping and Ghost being at the unfortunate end to it. Alas, he calms to the point where numbness consumes him.
The ball remains in Ghost’s court; he is reluctant to break it, or to make the decision himself. Stubborn he is about his own freedom, and yet he needs to be hand-held in this. If any is weak, then it is likely the fire-touched fool.
Eventually, it is broken. A step is taken towards him. A breath is held, and then released again, as another is taken, and another. Until eventually, Ghost is crawling up to him. Submissive in his crouch in a way he’s never been before. Champagne eyes flicker, assessing the situation and resisting the urge to curl back teeth.
Do not touch, when all the storm wants is to indulge, to freeze by the frost’s brush of hand—greed in how he wishes for flames to consume and mark to ensure no bastard touches what he wants to be his.
A noisy sigh escapes his nose and lips, and eventually he relents—allowing his head to ease into a more casual posture and shoulders to relax.

He feels a hint of relief when Firestorm's posture loosens, relaxing slightly himself. His tail falls away from his back-end slowly, resting against the ground as he lets out his own sigh. I won't do it again, He promises softly. He's too caught up in the fear of yet another loss to remember his pride, though he surely will later. For now, he's just grateful Firestorm hasn't shown him teeth.

Except Ghost will—there is no doubt of his position, much as the silver coywolf gives him sweet lies of being better than everyone else. Ghost wants to cling onto whatever this is— “friends”, his mind reminds him. It is now his decision; whether to allow it, or fling Ghost off without mercy.
He hates both in ways, yet he cannot help the foolish yearning, much the same as he had been a helpless child at the side of the windwalker. Forever in the shadows while the princess lit the slave’s eyes alive.
You will. Ghost won’t mean to, likely just as he didn’t mean to tangle with the mess prior, judging by the pleas and explanation. You say you like me, that I am better, but your actions don’t show that. You want everyone’s attention; not just mine.
Just how it is.

The words feel similar to a slap. He blinks hard, fighting tears again. How can I show it? The words come out thin and strained, desperate. I'll — I'll do anything. I will. There's a cold, hollow feeling growing in his chest. He's suddenly exhausted beyond words, tired to the core the way he'd been when Cupid had found him on that mountain. Hopelessness, he'll realize later. Right now he can only name it misery.

It’s odd to see someone fighting against instinct like Ghost is, as if it’s worth doing so for him. It isn’t; never would be. He’s the sort that shouldn’t be important to any, yet Ghost has tried to make him family, given him a name, and somewhere to bum around at. He ought to be happy with just that.
He’s starting to realize his mistake in all this.
Fuck. Fuck feelings.
You can’t— He cuts off, correcting his tone a beat later; You shouldn’t force it. Let me pissed for awhile. I’m not angry with you as much as I am with myself.

You can't. Those are the words that stick with him, ultimately, settling in the empty space in his chest like a block of ice. He lets out a shaky breath as Firestorm continues, realizing it'd been for nothing. The search, his promise, all the vulnerability he'd shown — he'd made a fool of himself for nothing, smashed his heart against the cold stone walls his friend has raised against him.
At least he feels less this way.
Okay, He breathes, the word scarcely more than a whisper. I'm sorry. Suddenly everything aches, and all he wants to do is go home — not Neverwinter Forest, or Uaine Gorsedd, or Swiftcurrent Creek. Home has always been with Helios, but Helios is gone or dead, and he doesn't know what he longs for anymore. He just misses the feeling.
He rises slowly, still fighting tears, and turns to leave. There's nothing more to say, not until they both calm down. He can't be sure Firestorm will come back to Neverwinter Forest, but he knows he can't force him to. As much as he wants control over the situation, his friend has made it clear that he will not be controlled, not even a little. All he can do is try his best to let go, at least for now. He's never been very good at that, but he can try.

That anger would last within, seizing the back of his mind til it either wins out or eases enough to give him a break. Regardless, it is inflicted towards his own; and he is late to realize the infliction on Ghost is worse than imagined. An apology hangs in the area. Firestorm’s face pinches, eyebrows furrowing. He doesn’t pass along any words, as cold settles over, and Ghost makes his choice.
He walks away, and Firestorm is left alone once more. A wish he thought he desired, but came to find out, simply felt as if he deserved. With Ghost’s figure long gone, he gets to his feet—an enraged yell escapes his lips as he turns to smash his head into the tree he’d lingered under. A moment later, a breath is exhaled, and Firestorm limps the opposite way.