Permafrost Hollows i'm watchin' the phone ring; it's making me angry

His breathing is slow and measured as he makes his way toward the base of the mountain, face stinging in a million different places. His neck hurts too, but he barely registers that pain. The thorns embedded closest to his eyes hurt the most; tolerable, but distracting enough to warrant some focus as he searches for his mate. He'd call for him if he wasn't afraid to open his mouth. For the millionth time, he chides himself for getting too eager with his hunt, too single-minded. He'd been so focused, he hadn't noticed the thorny bush directly in his path until it was too late. Now he has a face full of thorns, and the only one who can fix it is @Kratos. Who, of course, is nowhere to be found.

Now that they’ve settled into a home of their own, Kratos gets to work with marking their territory. Every last drop of piss he has in his tank goes to planting “keep out” signs scattered across the vast Hollows.
He’s empty by the time he returns to the main chamber. Light filtering in soft with an evening hue, and Kratos finds that he isn’t alone there. The chamber is big enough that most wouldn’t notice right away, but he’s drawn to his mate like a moth would be to flame.
A chuff sounds out first—tail peeking upwards with a light wag, he approaches the wraith unaware of the turmoil to his face until Zephyr turns towards him.
Ouch.
He approaches, pinching his lips awkwardly upwards as he presses a kiss to his forehead, trying to be careful hence the weird expression. Not that any of Kratos’ expressions are normal. One by one, he gingerly grasps the ends of thorns and plucks them out—it’s an odd sensation of being so careful.

Relief cuts through the tension cloaking him heavily when he hears his mate's chuff, and he turns wordlessly to meet him. His ears tilt back slightly at the expression he's met with, but the kiss quickly rectifies the situation — and thankfully, Kratos knows what to do immediately. As odd as it is for him, though, it feels even more strange for Zephyr. He's felt vulnerable with his mate before, even helpless, but this reminds him of a feeling far older than those experiences. This reminds him, in a watered down way, of a childhood spent cowering in the shadows every waking moment, trailing his brother and father almost obsessively in search of the relief they provided. Dependence had a bitter taste back then, thorough and one-sided as it'd been. But now, as his mate carefully works the last of the thorns from his flesh, he finds only comfort in it; he knows that he could do the same for Kratos, that he would, that they are equals in the ways they support one another. He reaches out to lick his nose gratefully when he finishes. Thank you, His voice is soft, affectionate.

He manages not to break any of the thorns while still embedded within Zephyr’s face. The ones nearest to his moonlight eyes are the most challenging, as Kratos has to maneuver his head in a strange way, and their size difference does little to aid this.
By the time it is done, the dragon clicks his teeth, snapping the last once he’s pulled it from Zephyr’s reach. It flicks in two directions. Neither smacking either of them, fortunately. A snort exhales from his nose following the kiss. He pulls Zephyr close, resting his chin atop the wraith’s head.
There is no need to thank him, for he assumes it is just a natural thing to do—this life that he’s searched for is finally becoming a reality. It often feels unreal, a dream that he doesn’t quite wake from. But Kratos would never complain.

He buries his face in Kratos's neck eagerly as he pulls him closer, ignoring the way it stings. His chest feels like it might burst, throat oddly tight. A deep, slightly shaky breath slips from him. « I love you, » He murmurs, forgetting for a moment that Kratos won't understand. His mate might have heard snippets of the language from a distance, if he'd ever bothered to listen to Zephyr's few conversations with his mother, but otherwise it's the first time he's ever spoken it in front of him. He doesn't realize his mistake for now, though.

The wraith is full of hidden tunnels, locked doors and barcades. Kratos rips at them, picks the lock and tends to have no manners when it comes to entering the home, tossing shoes off and collapsing on the couch as if it is no big deal. Maybe that is part of the reason why it becomes easy; weakness isn’t something to fear, nor is it a flaw in pale gold eyes.
The breathy words that fall from the silver’s lips are foregin and unknown, but the feeling they cast is unmistakable.

He's met with silence, and after a few moments he realizes his mistake. Sorry, I... He almost clarifies what he'd meant, but something stops him. Somehow saying the words directly suddenly feels too far, a step he isn't ready to take, and he finds himself glad he'd misspoken at first. He pulls away, embarrassed, and reaches for something else to say. Do you want to learn French? It's the language my mothers taught me. I miss it, sometimes.

Displeasure ticks within the dragon as his mate spirals away, stepping from the embrace the rust colored male tangled the silver within. His bearded chin tucks closer to his throat, ears pricking forward.
Yeah, sure. If only for it would be helpful in understanding Zephyr better—a part of his life that the dragon has yet to uncover.

The answer brings a brief half-smile to his features, oblivious as he is to his mate's displeasure. He reaches forward to kiss his cheek, tail swaying. We can start now, then, He says, eyes sparkling with anticipation. He wastes no time after that, beginning with the most basic lessons he can think of, and making sure to instill a few simple phrases before they finish.