Herbalists' Cache supposed to be on stage, but fuck it, i need a minute

he makes a noise in response to her words. it is like a grunt, stuck in his throat, not making it past to the cage of his teeth. molars crush down. his teeth connect, in symmetry, as he stares into the distance. feeling her work his muscles, only now she did so harshly.

a welcome feeling, as pain knotted in his muscles and eventually alleviated into a numb softness. his head lowers, slowly, as he lets himself relax into the feeling. eyes cascading closed, his breathing pulsing, flanks pressing against hers. he welcomes her touch, even if his mind tells him not to.

he is not ready to forgive. but it does not mean they must be apart. he knows this much—and he must set aside his pride. not for him, not for ishmira, but for her. for the woman he had pursued for long. she had slipped from his grasp once, that day moons ago. he got her back, and did not seek to lose her.

he turns his head halfway to her, letting his chin—tentatively—find her head to rest upon. his voice rumbling in his throat against her fur. i do not hate you. he says, and he is silent for several long, stifled seconds. as if he may suffocate to get out what he says next:

i love you.