Blackfeather Woods hit me up

Their relations were turbulent as ever in these moments. They had never been stable, except perhaps in their younger years. But they were both volatile and unpredictable wolves, each in their own way. After that one moment Cicero had not brought up his love for Damien again, although he knew that his brother knew it was still very much there. Other things had got in the way, had happened and caused for distractions. This was true even presently, with what had happened with Alexander clouding his mind — not so much for the terrible things that he had done to the boy, but for the loss of control, ironically by ways of dominating another. Was he losing touch? Would the beast take over soon? These were the worries most present in his mind — Was he the one that had harmed Xan, or was it Sheogorath? Or worse, what if he was both, if the essence of Cicero was embedded with the essence of Sheogorath; what if he chose to be Sheogorath, or some subconscious part of him did. Was he destined for darker things? And where would it end?

He licked his lips as Damien approached, a narrow smile lining his face. Damien was a sight for sore eyes to the philosopher. His was a double-edged sword, cutting into his sanity by denying him the culmination of their love yet granting his mind peace by simply being there. "It is taken care of now. Cicero will return to the den." With thoughts raging through his mind, Cicero pressed his head in the nook underneath his brother's chin, the soft fur with the white splotch meant only for him in that moment.