Permafrost Hollows now i know what’s real what’s fake

Maman's care has brought him back to some semblance of health, though his mind remains fractured for now. He's quiet most of the time, and solitary when he can steal time away without feeling too much guilt. He loves his mother — but she isn't Kratos. No one is, and no one ever can be, in the same way no one can be Helios or Phillip. The loss has left him desolate, and his recent vision had only been salt in the wound.
Just like the cruelly familiar scent on the breeze. His thoughts halt, and so does he, only managing a couple more steps forward before his shock brings him entirely to a halt. Phillip? Again, his first instinct is disbelief, distrust in his own senses; it can't be him. But he's turning toward it anyway, following the trail as relentlessly as he's ever hunted any prey. He can't help the hope swelling within him like a great wave, the icy burning in his chest as he thinks of the possibility of reuniting with one of his lost loves.
Except —
He didn't really know he loved Phillip until just now. And that's a strange, twisted, awkward thought, because it can't be in the same way he loves his brother so it must be in the same way he loves his mate — that's too much right now, so he tucks it back where it came from the moment the dark figure comes into sight. Phillip! He doesn't even notice the state his friend is in as he barrels into him, refusing to stop for any reason until he feels the warmth of contact between them, dark fur mingling with his own silver.