Flycatcher Downs if i ever leave, i could learn to miss you

it comes so naturally for alamar. he's grateful, but jealous in an ugly, gnawing way, a way that makes it hard to keep his residual bitterness locked away in its little box. the lid jumps, loosened. why wasn't it easy when i wanted it? he smothers the thought, shoves it back in the box, sits on the top. it's time to move on. he's always been forgiving; it should be easy here, too, especially since it seems so easy for his companion. but maybe it isn't about forgiving anymore.
thank you, he tries to focus on alamar and his gentle attention, on the pain in his paw, anything to keep from wondering if he's defective. no matter how hard he tries, he can't make it feel natural anymore. it's always stilted and shy, half-reluctant and half-terrified. forgiveness might be easy, but closeness is hard, harder when you've been burned so many times you still feel the flames against your skin in the quiet moments between. it's overwhelming sometimes.
but that doesn't mean he doesn't want it. he presses his nose briefly to alamar's crown, letting the silence stretch. for once, he's a good patient; still and compliant, tolerant even when the cleaning stings. eventually, he remembers the weasel, glancing at it as he speaks again. the weasel is for you.