Deepwood Weald If you're gonna be the death of me, that's how I want to go

In the moments between Midar's embrace tightening and the sound of his voice, Alarian's heart picks up a nervous, uneven rhythm. He can't help but fear his lover's response — but it quickly becomes clear that he hadn't needed to. Midar's words settle over him like a warm blanket, a shield against the frigid winds of his own insecurities, and he finds himself struggling to respond past the lump in his throat.
You — you don't have to explain, He manages, voice thick with the threat of tears. He'd never imagined that anyone could love him so much, or that anyone would want to, broken and scattered as he is. But here is Midar: formidable and striking, beautifully whole and surely capable of taking anything he wants from the world — anything, anyone — and he'd chosen him. Tears spill from his eyes with his next words, soaking into his lover's fur, and his heart itself seems to burst and weep with emotion. I could never be without you, either. He clings to him more tightly, tears coming faster now, and tries to speak again. Oh, Midar, I - He falters this time, face still buried in his mate's fur, and all he can do for a few moments is cry.