Fox's Glade saying fuck your name

Despite his complete and total incompetency with social cues, Taylor doesn't miss how Toad's eyes light up at the mention of a medic. How his ears shove towards him. The base of his stomach tightens. He is sure that this sudden interest isn't due to the actual academics of healing.
Calculating, testing the ice, he forgets about his fox pelt. He fails to laugh at the appropriate time—goddamit!—and frustration tightens his hands.
Not much. He can't bring himself to lie. Not about this. Do you have a friend that's a healer? He braces himself for the answer, feeling teenaged and turbulent and tragic.