Sun Mote Copse Autumn Days

rasalas' eyes divert at the obvious affection freely given between the two. for a moment, he allows the ache in his chest to fester, blossoming into something that careens towards envy before he clamps down on it and chases it off. it is his own fault, he knows; but still, the moment makes him feel awkward. as the outsider. his ears perk as primrose informs them both that it's a secret and though the lost boy desires to ask why something so good should be a secret he doesn't.

n-no, no. i'm not. he says a bit flatly, outwardly uncomfortable with the praise even if his tail gives a small wag betraying him.