Blackfeather Woods the winged seeds, where they lie cold and low,

this is not the direction i expected this to take :^)

It's been an off day for Zephyr — actually, that's an understatement.
He's spent the day patrolling relentlessly, skin crawling, urging him onward past any other desires he might have. The movement is the only thing that soothes the wrongness buzzing deep in his bones, aching unbearably and growing with each passing moment of stillness. Today, more than other days, the wraith is hyper-aware of his differences; all the little ways in which he isn't quite right, the realities that don't match his vision of his own body. The feeling is icy dread in his chest, the looming weight of impending doom; he is wrong, his body is wrong, all of it is wrong.
Beneath the crushing anxiety of it all, Zephyr watches the feeling with curiosity. There is no true crisis in it, no desire to lash out as there once was; only the vague compulsion to shed his skin in hopes of stepping out as some improved version of himself, superficially closer to how he feels within. He dislikes the feeling — but he knows it will pass, in time.
Still, it brings questions with it. Questions he'd never liked thinking about before this — about how he's different and why and what it means for the way everyone sees him. He can't help wondering if this is somehow related to @Phillip's apparent lack of enjoyment when they'd been intimate. Of all his thoughts, that one sticks with him, stinging and nagging like a papercut until he finds himself seeking the dark boy. When he finds him, he can't stop the question from pouring out of his mouth. Phillip — the reason you didn't like it when we had sex… was it because I'm different? He swallows, realizing he should clarify. Because I look and smell like a girl? Saying it still feels wrong, though he knows it's true. The acknowledgement stings every time — but he doesn't mind it. It's a reminder of who he really is.