[He tries not to take too quick of a breath; it helps to have Cy's palm there over the injury, steadying him, keeping bone in place. But the force of the emotion is intense — it runs over him like a river, face tucked further down into the sanctity of Cy's shoulder, inhaling the scent of his skin, indulging in the warmth. Three days isn't a long time, but he missed this. Every night.]

It didn't feel right to ask for that. You said someone was in danger. [Fingers fold tight over Cy's own, knuckles whitened from the pressure.] ... And you were going to be with them for a while.

[Excavating this admission, stark and obvious as it is already, is hard.]

I was jealous. I didn't want to be, but I was.