Dawnlark Plains Got no time to waste, I'm already late

The sparks of agitation within him threaten to build to a raging flame for a moment under the heat of his lover's words, but he quickly sucks in a breath to calm himself. It's quite a bit of effort, though, and he still finds himself gritting his teeth at the words I am fine. Obviously the man isn't fine, and all of this would be so much easier if he'd just admit it. But no; they get to do this.
Midar's next words are like a bucket of ice-water down his back. The anger melts from him immediately, replaced by a cold guilty panicky feeling that he doesn't like very much at all. I want you to not be hurt! He snaps, voice breaking; all the bite in his tone has been replaced with rawness, and the would-be anger comes out sounding more like fear, worry, desperation. His breath hitches and the guilt is suddenly overwhelming. Slowly, tentatively, he reaches out to press his muzzle to Midar's cheek if he's allowed, at a loss for words now.