Gilded Bay deserted, my organs can go on without me

He didn't understand the emotions he saw in Phocion's expression; he still didn't understand what he had done. Cortland shrank in on himself as he watched his friend react. At the very least, he knew now that he had done something terrible. But how terrible? Would the ethereal male leave him— run him off, even? Would he deserve it? The Mayfair shivered more fiercely, imagining he must but dreading it desperately.
Then, Phocion drew closer. The sunset boy had not expected comfort. He froze for a moment, trying and failing to understand— but Cortland was too raw, too fragile to question for long. He sighed softly at his friend's touch, pushing his nose into his fur. For several beats, he was quiet, pressing close; he felt fragile, needy. As if he might shatter in the embrace, but needed it more than he had ever needed anything.
I'm sorry. Cortland's second apology was somehow more broken than the first. It came, this time, with the knowledge that he could not undo this— he could not fix it. He didn't ask now what exactly it was he had done— clearly Phocion knew, but Cortland wasn't sure he wanted to yet. Not with the memory of his friend's expression still burned fresh in his mind.