King Elk Forest of a boy ruled by the sun, burned by the things he could never touch

ive been dying for days

he wonders if there was a way for him to stop this conversation before it was too late, before he'd put out into the world - not a confession but something close enough. something that changed the way the air fell between them. delight feels rooted to the spot, the moon-silver of his eyes tracing the outline of mato's expression, the seriousness with which he consider's the nénar's joke. 

of course it isn't really a joke, and delight doesn't think mato knows how to be gentle. he'd resigned himself already to looking from afar, to playing a supporting character in the morwinyon's cast without fuss. he is not lonely - he pines, but it is not unbearable and brienne had been his friend, too. but if she's not here - if mato keeps looking at him like that --

no, he can't let himself have even a glimmer of hope, here. it does not end well, he knows that already. there is no universe in which it can end well. (he has to tell himself that to make it okay).

he finally looks away when the prince speaks, the words settling in his chest burning-hot. he knew mato would take him seriously and he'd said it anyway. and now there is a promise between them that delight does not know the terms of yet. "... thank you," he mumbles, clearly flustered, the erratic thumping of his heart threatening to overwhelm him. oh. the paradigm has shifted. 

"i'll let you get back to - patrol," he manages, though he doesn't move for another long moment, feeling tender and opened and vulnerable. the moment passes and the androgyne lifts a paw as if pulling back into himself, throwing a searching look at mato one last time before, with as much normalcy as he can manage, fleeing.