Fox's Glade My silent lips

Historically, he wasn’t good in these situations. He’d spent so much time keeping everything pent up inside, unable and unwilling to let anyone in; even in a glimpse revealed too much, making him vulnerable and weak. He had always believed that he wasn’t supposed to show anything, he wasn’t supposed to let anyone in, but now he was beginning to realise just how wrong he had been. He wanted to tell her everything just as much as he wanted her to tell him—he wanted to be there for her, support her, the same way that he wanted for himself. He reached out to her in an effort to communicate this, when another sob shook her, gentle in the way he sought to touch his muzzle to her own. It’s okay, he tried to say, but his voice betrayed him and left him soundless. It’ll be okay.

But she would not share and he, bare as he’d made himself to her, was visibly hurt. “What happened?” he tried again. “I want… I want to know—I want to help.” But could he? Could he really help her, when he could not even help himself? And was what troubled her so even something he was capable of helping her with? That small, nagging voice in the back of his mind told him no, you can’t, and he could think of no reason why he shouldn’t believe it—but whether or not he could didn’t matter, because he was at least ready to try. He wanted to help, to be there for her, to make up for all the things he’d done. He didn’t want to repeat history anymore, he just wanted to make things right—

—all he wanted was to be better, to give away the same trust and support that he’d sought for himself for so long. He wanted to be there for someone other than himself.