Sleep, perchance to dream

There had been assistants in the infirmary, more experienced and better trained than he, but still Jigano had hovered worriedly as they'd set to cleaning and bandaging Rory to continue the healing that Vervain's magic had begun. One had finally, in exasperation, gotten him to clean himself up as well so that he wouldn't do anything to endanger the hunter's healing when he inevitably returned to his friend's side. He'd even begged one of the assistants to collect the glowing antlers and return with them, thinking that his friends might find them a comfort.

Isuma had kept watch over Rory until they had finished fussing over him, and she fell asleep curled on the hunter's hip almost as soon as the nurses withdrew, exhausted in body and soul.

Jigano knew how she felt. Now that he was in human form and the emergency was past it felt... strange... to reach for his friend's hand. The bard's honey-toned fingers hovered above his the hunter's fingers, afraid in a way he didn't know how to fight. Would Rory even want to see him now? Would he blame Jigano for the bite? Would he feel better if neither man nor fox was there when he woke up?

Or would he be worried?

In the end it didn't matter. Jigano had promised that he wouldn't leave his friend, a vow made in the heat of the moment, but a vow nonetheless. As an Oracle he had been blessed with divine favor in many ways... but it had been balanced by a curse that had run in the Oracles of his family for generations. He couldn't break a vow, once made, without suffering immediate physical repercussions. Perhaps that, too, had been broken when he had stepped through the portal, but it wasn't the sort of thing one tested lightly, nor without good reason.

Staying by Rory's side, though fraught with its own dangers, was something he wanted to do anyways. If he could give his friend comfort at all, and not bring him more pain, it was worth any hurt the leatherworker might wish to inflict on him in retaliation. But he'd never been given permission to touch his friend as a human. And besides, there wasn't much room for him, tall and lanky as he was. It was the most natural thing in the world to slip back into his fox form and curl up on the cot along Rory's side, nudging himself under his friend's limp arm so gentle, familiar fingers rested between his ears and he could share his own warmth with the wounded man.

He had meant to sit silent vigil, but heartache and the cost of the day - in fear, in rage, in madness, and guilt - wrapped him in numbing exhaustion and before he knew it he'd slipped away into dreamless slumber.

Not yet awake in this horrid stone place, Rory was at some sort of peace: sleeping easy. His thick (and bloodstained) outdoor clothing had been traded for a white linen shirt, the wool blankets keeping him warm. The blond hair was still confined to a messy, tangled braid. A soothing lotion was slathered over his burns, the bitten shoulder wrapped up, a gryphon cradled loosely in the crook of one arm, and a fox resting under the other.

It was a deep and healing sleep, dreamless at first: an exhausted mind and an exhausted body recovering from the madness and the brink. Vervain's gentle magic had given him the best possibles start to recovery, ensuring he would suffer no more blood loss worth the name, and snuffing out the budding infection in his open burns.

But as the phases of sleep cycled, again and again, and the events began to swim to the forefront of his mind as his eyes roved beneath closed eyelids.

Fire.

The insidious, sinister hiss in his ear, the monster within purring—fire.

It was just snatches of memory, the details all muddled, faces changed, and fire, fire, fire. And through it all, that thread of pure evil and discord, poisoning his mind and soul until the bright, bright flashes woke him.

Despite his dreaming he had been relatively still, mostly just twitching, but his hand had closed instinctively on the scruff and shoulders of the fox pressed up against him. It took him some time to figure out where he was, and what he was doing, and what the sensation of fur in his hand meant—the pain throbbed a dull beat in his face and chest, and he stared at the unfamiliar stone ceiling as memory washed back in, like so much driftwood.

Amalia and Wessex at his house. The fox in the barn. The first cycle of wakefulness and sleep, and then: the disturbance. A night flight. Fire and horror and anger.

Amalia falling. Edrei carrying her away. The fox Attuned, tall and lean and white-haired, more or less dragging him towards the Temple.

After that, he remembered very little. Not how they got in. Not how they got here. He had a vague impression of the white hair falling around his face, and of warmth seeping through his ragged body.

He was in the Infirmary. He was beneath a stone ceiling, within stone walls, and if his guess was right, the unnatural, starless dark pressed against the Temple still. Rory swallowed. Figured out his fingers were in the fox's scruff, and relaxed their grip on the small canine.

How had the gryphon made it to them? It didn't matter; knowing he had probably woken the fox already he put his hand on the bed, the other still around the owlkitten, and pushed himself into sit, back against the wall.

"Fuck," he said, rather mildly, voice rough from sleep.

Jigano did not dream.

By all rights he should have been twitching and whimpering in the grip of nightmares alongside his friend, but Ludo's price had become a blessing. His sleep was not truly restful anymore, and perhaps that had contributed to some of his poor decisions and how easily the madness had taken him, but he was also spared reliving the waking nightmare they had waded into, eyes wide open and intent on saving... saving... saving what?

It had been his last thought before fading into unconsciousness, heart even more exhausted than body. He woke to the strangest sensation - fingers in his scruff, his fur, holding, tightening. But Rory's scent was thick against his nose, a scent more reassuring than any other to his heightened animal senses, and though he woke tense at the unfamiliar contact he quickly forced himself to relax, pressing his head more tightly against the hunter's thigh with a soft whine of reassurance.

Isuma continued to sleep hard, worn out from her heroic run across the fields by herself. She shifted in her gryphonish dreams, cuddling more comfortably into the crook of Rory's elbow as he worked to sit up. Jigano rose and shook himself, fluffing his fur back out before turning a neat half-circle to face his friend. Looking up at him felt so much more natural than looking down, but the fox was hesitant to crawl into his friend's lap and nestle there in shared comfort. He didn't know if Rory wanted him there or not, after what he'd done, and until he did...

The white fox crouched by the human's thigh, ears folding back in guilt and sorrow as he looked up at his friend with wounded, worried blue eyes. He whined softly at the curse that fell from sleep-roughened lips, stretching his nose tentatively towards his friend's hand, then pulling away uncertainly, watching Rory for some clue as to what the blond man wanted or would tolerate from him.

The child nestled against his chest had likely been awake for far too long, left alone in the dark of the barn as the three idiots rode into the monster's teeth, not to mention in whatever way she'd gotten to the Infirmary. Unless... Unless the fox had gone back into the dark, fetched her, and then returned?

Somehow, Rory doubted that, and it would not account for the way she slept like the dead. Unless she always did that. She was, after all, a baby, and babies—of any kind—slept a lot.

He felt heavy, and sluggish. Each beat of his heart was accentuated by a deep throb of pain, an ache wrapped around his upper body, a lethargy in his muscles like that of finally resting after too many nights of lost sleep. He raised his hand to wipe at his eyes, and then stifled a yawn.

His fox friend had, indeed, woken up, and watched him with those curious blue eyes that had seemed so out of place in a human face.

Perhaps the fact that Rory had not done much damage to anyone was what kept his guilt at bay: he had thought dark and horrible things, but the most he had achieved was slapping Edrei's arm or something, which she probably hadn't even noticed. He had not thought much of why the girl had attacked him, or why the fox had bitten him, had just assumed it was because the same need for murder had whispered in their veins. The same distrust, building to a hot fury, one that would not be denied.

What else could explain their on and off attempts at tearing each other apart?

Yet the way the fox looked at him was .. a little bit disconcerting. Rory's jumbled memories left no room for the knowledge of just how close to his limits he had been pushed, and the worried gaze peering up into his face had him feeling a little uncomfortable, as if the fox was worried he'd just fall over and die or something.

The white canine extended his head, then withdrew it again, and Rory's eyebrows grew creased. It wasn't like he was going to fall apart if he was nosed... "What are you looking at me like that for?" he asked, grumpiness masking the anxiety snaking through his belly—had Amalia not made it? Was that why he was looking like that, about to deliver bad news? His frown deepened into a preemptive scowl and he reached out to boop the fox's nose, for lack of a better thing to do, hoping it'd get him out of that worried staring mood.

Jigano watched Rory shift and awaken, glad to see his friend moving but worried about what the injuries beneath his bandages looked like. The bite had been... bad. The burns, far worse. Still, Vervain's healing had been enough to close the wounds over, preventing further bleeding or infection and it was a relief to see the man moving now, both arms usable despite the abuse his shoulders and chest had suffered. It was a brief moment of relief amid his sea of uncertainty and fear that their friendship had been irreparably damaged by his weak mind and sharp teeth.

The fox flinched at the grumpiness in the human's voice, assuming it was directed at him, and at the scowl - had he ever seen that expression aimed at him before? No, never that he could recall - that pulled at his friend's lips. Tucking himself up small in response he  tensed to hop down from the bed and leave the man in peace, without any further reminders of what had been done to him by a wild and angry animal.

Before he could quite force himself to try and leave his friend's side, curse be damned, Rory reached out to him, placing a finger gently on the cool black leather of the fox's nose. Jigano blinked, ears twitching partway up in surprise, and on reflex he found himself backpedaling to sit up in instinctive affront. He uncrossed his eyes to look cautiously up at Rory, but the touch had been so gentle and recalled another time when he had cheered the hunter up. So maybe... maybe...

Greatly daring, the white fox stepped carefully forward, ears twitching as he watched Rory's expression for any sign of flinching away or displeasure. He wanted things to heal between them, wanted more than anything not to lose what he had found at the quiet hunter's side, and if Rory didn't hate him for what he'd done then maybe... maybe there was a chance...

He put a paw to his friend's hip, then another on his stomach as he stretched up, careful not to touch his friend's injured chest as he dipped his nose to briefly hover over Rory's bitten shoulder with a soft whine of guilty regret. He straightened to meet Rory's eyes, his own gaze just a little bit below the hunter's, then closed his eyes and nudged the blond's unburned cheek with the top of his head, rubbing soft fur to warm skin in a wordless apology filled with more emotions than he knew how to give voice to.

He saw—there was no way he couldn't, he was too used to reading the body language of animals—the fox shrink, as if he thought about leaving, chastised by Rory's grumpy tone and scowling face. It pricked his heart with regret, but he didn't have it in him at that moment to treat the Attuned with silk gloves. He was tired; he was in the fucking Temple; he was worried; he was in pain.

And if the fox chose to leave regardless, well.. Either he'd come around, or he wouldn't, and if he didn't, Rory could probably track him down now. He remembered enough of the lean body, the long white hair, the piercing blue eyes. He'd be able to find him, and sort things out.

But though the touch of a fingertip to a cold, black nose had him sitting back at first, it seemed to anchor him in the moment, for he remained on the bed next to Rory. Rory slow-blinked, most of his face relaxing again. Obviously the Attuned couldn't tell him what was on his mind in this shape anyway, and his gaze was less .. doom-y and gloomy. He almost seemed entranced instead, as he carefully stepped closer.

Rory just kept on watching, tensing his stomach muscles as the fox stepped on them (brutally reminding him that he hadn't peed for gods knew how long). The narrow muzzle hovered over his bitten shoulder, and Rory thought he, maybe, finally, understood.

If he had managed to inflict that kind of harm on someone, wouldn't he feel a bit anxious about it too? "It's alright," he grunted, meaning it despite the fact that he still sounded a little grumpy.

Then their eyes met for a moment, and Rory felt something deep within tighten. It was an old, familiar sensation, one he loathed and loved; he tried to pay it no heed, but it was difficult, when the soft top of the fox's head pressed against his cheek. Rory leaned into the touch a little, gently resting his head against the fox's, and sighed. Without a word he brought his free hand up to gently scratch at the fox's neck and jaws, working his fingertips down to the warm skin.

It wasn't alright, unfortunately. Not now. Hopefully, someday, it might be... but not yet. Not when the wounds were still so fresh, and the memories along with them. And not when the reassurance came in what sounded like so grudging a voice. That was fine, though. He hadn't expected forgiveness when he'd done nothing yet to earn it, and he accepted the weight of that displeasure as only fair. But it also wasn't a rejection of him. Rory wasn't telling him to leave, or pushing him away. He had reached out to touch the fox's nose in reminder of better times between them, and there was an undeniable relief in knowing that their strange, sweet, complicated relationship had grown strong enough to weather even the nightmare that Long Night had become.

He didn't understand what he saw in Rory's blue eyes. But then, he wasn't sure what he was feeling in his own heart anymore, except that he wanted to offer his friend his support and comfort, so long as the other man was willing to accept it. Rory had already given him so much, but of things that were intangible and difficult to explain. He'd never had a relationship like this before; a friendship that was both more intimate in the way they touched and strangely distant in how little the blond knew about him beyond the form that was only half of his life.

And now the bird form he... wasn't quite sure how to deal with yet.

But for a little while longer, at least, he didn't have to think too deeply about such things. He could cuddle against his friend and let the familiar pleasure of gentle fingers soothe him. His tail shifted in a contented canine wag as Rory leaned back against him, a soft sigh escaping as he let some of the tension in his chest go, accepting at last that Rory was going to be okay. That they were going to be okay. Even if Long Night wasn't over yet, they would see the dawn, eventually.

But...he didn't know if Rory remembered seeing him shift. If he had, and they still had this moment... had he been a fool to hide his human form all this time? Through a season and a half... over four months they had known each other. So when Rory eventually tired of scratching him the fox carefully sat back - but remained pressed close to the human's hip. He watched his friend with eyes that held both hope and fear and tilted his head questioningly, giving a soft, querying bark in the dimly lit room.

In many ways, Rory found animals—or would-be animals—easier to interact with. The difference between Attuned and regular animals was that the former could hold grudges if you brushed them off, and while he'd met enough animals that lived for grudges as well, they were typically easier to make it up to. They could be complex too, but nowhere near as complex as a human.

The point wasn't that he wanted to brush the fox off (for he didn't): the point was that the canine form was soothing and familiar and undemanding, and that was why he had no issue with it.

Honestly, if there was something to take issue with, it was, well, that Rory might get too comfortable and make a fool of himself in front of someone who was so much more than just a clever fox. Occasionally it ghosted to the forefront of his mind, a savage reminder that he knew nothing of where the fox's observations went: did their interactions stay between the two of them?

He had decided long ago not to worry about it, but sometimes, it was hard not to.

After an immeasurable time had passed, and Rory's hand fell to his side, the fox sat back. While he was glad to no longer have a paw pressing into his gut he felt colder.

Their eyes met again, and it was Rory's turn to not know what it was he saw in them. Something hesitant, something uncertain, and something powerful. The fox's head tilted. Rory shifted the gryphon a little. The fox barked, softly. Rory raised an eyebrow. The only response he had felt too—shallow, somehow, as if he wasn't understanding that this, whatever it was, meant much to the fox.

Which he did.

But frankly, it could've been a number of things, and he didn't have the first clue as to what.

"What?" he said, though it was mild and light. "You'll have to be more specific than that." He spoke in the way he might've responded to one of Vaya's many barks at gods-knew-what, because it was the only way he knew how to respond.

The underlying growl had left Rory's voice, Jigano was glad to note. He seemed calmer now, less angry with the world - with himself. The bard felt better as well, comforted in a way that was still strange and new to him. Not since he had left his parents' house had he had someone he could turn to as he did now to Rory. He was the one who supported, comforted, reassured and soothed his friends. He was the rock, the point of stability they could rely on

except when they couldn't. When trust became complacency, became underestimation, became derision, became fatal

and he was proud of that.

But no one had ever asked if he needed support or comfort. Even Isuma and Hiraku, who had known him best, privy to his darkest secrets, had never considered that he might have a breaking point until it was too late.

But Rory was... different. He didn't just take the comfort that Jigano offered. He gave it in return, just as freely. He asked nothing of the fox, expected nothing, but gave him shelter, and gentleness, and hope. He let him keep his secrets... secrets that had nearly gone unspoken until it was too late.

Thoughts flashed through his mind, some well-articulated, others merely feelings. In the end the fox bowed his head in acceptance of Rory's not-quite-request, the gentlest of appeals doing what a harsh demand never could. He stood and jumped from the bed--

--and flowed upwards into the shape of a man, tall and lean with long white hair cascading down his back and caught only lightly into a tail. His clothing fit his body snugly but loosened to wide sleeves in pale greys and greens. He turned to face Rory fully, blue eyes full of trepidation as he said softly, in his rich tenor: "Jigano. I said my name is... Jigano."

The gaze remained unreadable: just blue, just .. intense, but Rory had been honest. In a situation that seemed this complex, he needed words, or something that was physically tangible. This was just vague, and while he didn't have a problem with that, it also made him feel lacking. What if he was supposed to have understood..?

But he hadn't. Couldn't. It was in the realm of tongues, a dimension their carefree friendship lacked. Rory could say what he wanted, but saying thing after thing and waiting for the fox to nod was just pointless.

So he watched in silence, demanding nothing, asking nothing, merely waiting without knowing what he waited for.

The fox came to a decision, and Rory had a split second of pure nerves: snakes crawling in his gut, his heart racing from the tipping point. A thousand what ifs screamed through his head, pain and fear and anticipation like a thunder echoing through his nerves. Even though he had memories of the fox as a man they were jumbled, full of darkness and red light and in the end .. nothing.

It happened very quickly. The white fur melted in skin and clothing, its shadow stretching to accommodate this new shape: tall and lean and—

And what? Rory felt his gaze travel from the man's feet to his face, but he barely registered what he saw, or chose not to think about it, anyway. He didn't know why, just that .. he couldn't handle it, at that moment. There were things he could say, things he felt he was allowed to say, but he let none of them sit upon his tongue. Just ended up peering into a face that was decidedly human, framed by long hair as white as the fox's fur.

Jigano.

"Yes, that was more specific," he said, something distant in his unfocused eyes. His heart was hammering, his mouth tasted of fear; no longer a blurred memory, but standing right in front of him. The silent keeper of grief and silly moments.

He didn't want to lose it.

He needed something to remind him, to anchor him, something else than the blue, blue eyes: some way of showing that.. that.. that what? That nothing had changed? (Everything had changed.)

His hand fumbled for the loose fabric of Jigano's nearest sleeve, trying to pull on it, to tug the tall man down, closer, to put him within reach—

(Everything was always changing anyway.)

His fingers trembled, his mind blank, his eyes like those of the blind as he tried to—boldly, stupidly, recklessly, without finesse—run his fingers into Jigano's hair, behinds his ear, almost as if he was going to grasp the back of his head and pull him closer and kiss him (only, he didn't).

But it was just that: Rory's face, his eyes elsewhere as he tried to reconcile fox and man, and his hand trying to bridge the gap between the two.

He could see the shock in his friend's eyes, the haze of disbelief that questioned the truth of what - who - stood before him. Rory's response felt almost mechanical, a reflex more than something he truly meant, and Jigano stood poised to...

To what? To run, if the hunter rejected this form? To flow back into his foxform, small and unthreatening, and hope that Rory would let things go back to how they had been before? To beg him to wait and listen to words that only a fox could say, that human language had no context for?

Tense, frightened in a way different than he had been out in the dark, but no less powerfully so, he waited for the blond hunter to accept or deny him, heart pounding so loudly he didn't know if he would even hear his friend if Rory spoke.

No words. But then, words had never been their primary means of communication, had they? But Rory reached for him, and Jigano let himself be pulled by shaking fingers as strong and inexorable as a riptide, pulling him out to sea and down, down into blue eyes that could drown him. He caught himself with one hand on the bed, the other resting lightly across the hunter's body on his hip.

He should have flinched away from the fingers in his hair, an intimacy he had allowed no one since he'd left childhood innocence behind. Should have... but how could he? It was Rory touching him, as he had been doing barely a minute before. Rory, who had long since earned the right. Who, of all his friends, didn't know the mask of the man, but had seen through to the heart of the fox.

Jigano took a breath, and on the exhale made a leap of faith. He closed his eyes, bowing his head as he tilted into Rory's touch, and he let the masks fall away, so far as they could in this changed form. His ears lengthened, growing white and furry and shifting up higher on his skull as his nails thickened and hardened to short claws on the tips of fingers. Though he had closed them, he felt his eyes shift as well, iris expanding to overtake sclera and pupil elongating vertically. His muzzle didn't appear, but he hardly noticed. It had been a decade since he'd last walked in his own skin outside of the spiritual realm, and he had forgotten much of what it felt like.

It felt vulnerable. A secret that he had been raised to hide by cautious parents, immigrants in a land where their kind were uncommon. Masquerading as a human had saved his life more than once, and the lives of his friends. Even though Caido was different, a lifetime of caution was difficult to discard in a single season. But it was the only gift he had left to give to his friend, even with the bleak knowledge that the native-born mage might not be able to understand it.

But... so long as that gentle touch connected them, there was still hope.

It was imprecise; rough, jagged, terrified and elated. His short, blunt nails ran across the man's scalp, fingers pressing into skin, as if the force of his hand was the force to overcome whatever .. whatever this was .. the runaway freight train in his chest.

It wasn't like it mattered.

It wasn't like he had been a ghost before; untouchable, unreachable. He had been oh so very real even as a fox.

But as the seconds passed and Jigano stayed by him—leaning over him, tilting his head into the touch as he had done so many times before as a fox—his touch grew softer. Less jerky. Instead of trying to get hold of Jigano's head like a man drowning he found his fingers running through the long, soft hair. The motion of his fingertips was gentler, less savage.

And... as he was still looking through the other man he felt it, rather than saw it. His ears—oh. They weren't gone, they had just moved, and Rory let his fingers glide along the nearest. The shape and texture was so familiar, but how the fur slowly bled into hair and skin was not. "Huh," he breathed; an observation, not a judgment.

Swallowing his heart back into his chest he finally made his eyes refocus on Jigano's face. His eyes were closed—and he looked.. peaceful, like that. And with his eyes closed, Rory found that he could look at him without feeling self-conscious. Not quite embarrassed, but hyper-aware of something.

His fingers trailed down from the base of his ear to his hairline, and on a whim that was too personal—less playful, less innocent compared to when done to a fox—he turned his hand the other way, and gently ran the back of it down Jigano's cheek, before letting it fall into his lap, nestling with Isuma. Anticipating that Jigano might open his eyes Rory dropped his gaze to his chest again, something unreadable on his blistered face as he sought for words that eluded him.

For Rory, he had the patience of a mountain. He waited as fingers pushed roughly through his hair at first, breath catching briefly as hair was tugged or pulled sharply, but there was a sense of exploring to the touch, uncertainty that needed reassurance with something tangible and real. For the injury he had caused his friend he would have submitted to far rougher treatment, but in time the clumsiness seemed to soothe away from his friend's fingers, becoming the gentler caress he was used to. It was that which gave him the courage to share his sense of self with the man who lay healing in the infirmary bed, a sense of hope and fear and the fierce, aching desire to trust someone who had earned it with his quiet grace and steady friendship.

He couldn't stop the shiver that ran through him as Rory's fingers slid over his vulpine ears, a prickle over his skin that was neither heat nor cold but something of both. The ear flicked instinctively away from that touch, but returned just as quickly as Jigano struggled with trying to decide if he liked the sensation or not.

Well. He liked it, but it was new and almost too much with every sense hyper-aware and focused on the man beneath him. With his eyes closed he could hear Rory's heartbeat, racing as fast as his own as the strange, dreamlike moment stretched out, fragile as spun glass. His own fingers trembled as he leaned into the petting, both familiar and new, afraid that any word would shatter it. Afraid that if he opened his eyes he would wake up, still in foxform, decisions still unmade, and chances lost.

Knuckles traced lightly over his cheek and his breath caught in his chest, as he froze in uncertainty. He wanted...

Did he want? And if so... what? His thoughts, normally so orderly and precise, had splintered like light through a prism. Pale lashes fluttered open carefully, stealing a peek at his friend's face and finding Rory unwilling to look at him. But... that touch...

Slowly, as if Rory were a wild, wounded animal, Jigano took his hand from his friend's hip, reaching to place it over the hunter's hand, if he was allowed. He was ready to stop if the other man flinched, but if he didn't, if he allowed the contact, the fox-turned-man would raise Rory's hand again, turning it over to place the palm against his cheek, nestling into the contact with a quiet sigh of... relief? Contentment? Hope?

"Thank you," he breathed, barely a whisper, as he let his eyes close again against the nervousness that fluttered in his chest and throat.

And what could he say? What did he want to say? What good would words be, in that moment? To speak of his human form, as if it was somehow more important than the fox, just felt .. wrong, as if the canine he had known for months had been not-quite-real. Not quite true. Lesser, somehow.

In the same way, apologizing for suddenly being a bit shocked and self-conscious to wake up and have him shift almost first thing felt wrong, too.

As if something about this moment had been—was—wrong. Imperfect. Defective. Less than the expected.

But there was nothing to apologize for. There was nothing, for him, to say thanks for. (Perhaps, thank you for trusting me, but even those words died on his lips as his hand nestled against Isuma's downy feathers and soft kitten fur.) This thing: it just was.

What would've been the morning after a difficult task, but was just another unspecified time in the unrelenting, hungry dark.

It wasn't until Jigano's hand left his hip that he noticed it had been there at all, and once he noticed, he was again struck by the realization that he didn't know how to feel about it; or rather, he knew how he felt about it, but he didn't want to acknowledge it. His life was built around not acknowledging it.

And yet, there he was, watching as a hand with blunt fox claws instead of nails covered his, and raised it back up again. He made no resistance, his blue eyes watching, his heart pounding.

(I shouldn't be doing this)

Jigano's cheek was smooth and warm under his hand. There was a weight to the touch, a head leaning against his fingers and palm; thank you the other whispered, and Rory wondered what those two words meant in that moment. He said nothing, just let his fingers move, slightly, his thumb stroking Jigano's cheek as his eyes once more rested on his face.