[He snorts audibly, forcing a breath through his nose in an indignant huff.]
If you were fine, you wouldn't keep telling me and Rowan not to worry. You wouldn't change the damn subject to steer clear of talking about yourself! You wouldn't keep struggling to say something nasty about Patho-Gen and what they did to you!
[She's fast, but despite his size these days, he's fast, too - faster than even he thinks he ought to be. He seemingly appears in front of Northly in the span of a heartbeat, blocking her path, a faint trail of heat and dragonblight the only remnant of his path.
So much for not moving; his temper gets the better of him as he grabs at her wrist.]
[She smacks into him.] Oof! [Glaring, she attempts a stern look, but it's rather undercut as she rubs her nose, which took some of the impact.] You are faster. [How dare he.]
[That remark catches him off-guard just enough to make his nose wrinkle, but he remains resolute. He does not want to deal with any more changes right now, not when he's barely holding it together as it is.]
Look—
[He grinds his teeth; he can't help himself, an apology escaping him as she rubs her face. He did that - he hurt her.]
[Pom stares at her for a moment, pulling in a breath before pushing it out again; though he manages to keep his disappointment from his face, he's sure it wears into his shoulders, into the way he flexes his hands and digs his claws into his own palm.]
I rather just... be with you today. Eat later, when you're feeling better.
[Maybe the Imprint will help, but he's feeling less and less hopeful about that with every passing day.]
[He flinches, minutely but visibly; he forgets she can see right through him, and is the far better of the two of them when it comes to feeling through the Imprint.]
I'm not. [And seeming to realize that answer won't be good enough for her—] Not afraid, just... unsure.
[She pokes his chest with one clawed fingertip.] Scared. [She can tell that he doesn't mean to deceive her, but he is... not great with this. Reluctantly, as if pulling teeth, she continues.] I do not know how to talk about my condition. [There. Ugh! Now his turn.]
[She flinches, hearing her words again. That wasn't easy to say. And she doesn't want to talk about it.] It means what it means. [She glances up, trying to see if there's an easy way around him, or through a window. Maybe she can hold him with wind as she makes for the harbour.]
[While Purl was always the better of the two of them when it came to sniffing out lies, Pom isn't entirely incapable of it: one has to be decent at guessing motivations to keep up a convincing, charming mask, after all. However, it's far harder for him to do when it comes to someone he trusts - someone he's willing to believe outright rather than the alternative.
His claws dig into his palm again; he rubs the back of his neck idly with his other hand.]
I didn't...
[This is his fault. He should have known. He should have protected her. He should have—]
Nevermind. Let's just... figure it out another time, I guess.
[His guilt floods their bond and this! This is why she hates talking! It's never just on her! It's everyone who feels they should have prevented her from any hardship. So she can't hurt, or be broken or have a bad day!] I want to feed you. [Because that will help. Maybe.]
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If you were fine, you wouldn't keep telling me and Rowan not to worry. You wouldn't change the damn subject to steer clear of talking about yourself! You wouldn't keep struggling to say something nasty about Patho-Gen and what they did to you!
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[He'll stand right here and starve if that's what it takes to reach her.]
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[She's fast, but despite his size these days, he's fast, too - faster than even he thinks he ought to be. He seemingly appears in front of Northly in the span of a heartbeat, blocking her path, a faint trail of heat and dragonblight the only remnant of his path.
So much for not moving; his temper gets the better of him as he grabs at her wrist.]
I said you're gonna talk about this.
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Look—
[He grinds his teeth; he can't help himself, an apology escaping him as she rubs her face. He did that - he hurt her.]
... Sorry.
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[Not for arguing with her.]
Didn't mean to knock you down. I'm just... real worried about you, you know?
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I rather just... be with you today. Eat later, when you're feeling better.
[Maybe the Imprint will help, but he's feeling less and less hopeful about that with every passing day.]
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[Because frankly, he's not sure he can be sated.]
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Why are you afraid?
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I'm not. [And seeming to realize that answer won't be good enough for her—] Not afraid, just... unsure.
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What do you mean by that?
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Fear is the result of uncertainty or perceived threat. [Also: Pom, right now.]
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No, I meant about you talking. You don't know how to talk about it. What do you mean by that?
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What, is it painful?
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[While Purl was always the better of the two of them when it came to sniffing out lies, Pom isn't entirely incapable of it: one has to be decent at guessing motivations to keep up a convincing, charming mask, after all. However, it's far harder for him to do when it comes to someone he trusts - someone he's willing to believe outright rather than the alternative.
His claws dig into his palm again; he rubs the back of his neck idly with his other hand.]
I didn't...
[This is his fault. He should have known. He should have protected her. He should have—]
Nevermind. Let's just... figure it out another time, I guess.
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[Hungry as he is, that's entirely honest.]
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