Noctisardor Bypass life is about creating yourself.

There is hurt in his voice and it stakes her.

She lifts a paw. She intends to take a step. It’s one that will carry her towards him, to kiss him, to learn him, to join them as one. To spend one night with him, or longer. To give herself to him. To create something: a family. To live a life parallel to his.

“And if I told you I wanted you to touch me?” Her eyes seek him now. Longing is far more pressing than fear. He burns brighter than her resolve. How trivial it would be to call this lust, when she is seen and not just looked at.

His words are fervent, her inhale is sharp, unbidden. How much of this is the pull of their bodies? Would anything remain when the week has come and gone?

She never takes that step. Her paw is returned to the ground.

“It’s not that. I don’t want children, either,” her voice is small. “But I don’t trust myself with you.”