Kyyre was drowning.

The warmth of Leon’s body was suffocating, pressing into him from all sides, wrapping around him like something primal, something alive. He wasn’t sure what he had expected—distance, rejection, anything but this—but now that he was here, held here, there was no escape.

Leon’s arm was an iron snare around his waist, an unyielding, possessive grip that kept him there, kept him close, and Kyyre could barely breathe past the storm inside him. The heat of his hand burned through the fabric at his waist, sending sparks of sensation straight through his nerves. Every muscle in his body locked up, trembling, his thoughts racing so fast he couldn’t catch a single one.

But the final, world-ending moment was the weight against his head.

Leon’s head dipped low, hovering just above his crown, the barest suggestion of touch, of closeness, and it was too much.

Kyyre broke.

A sharp inhale, a shudder that wracked through his entire frame, and suddenly—his arms moved.

Shaking fingers curled into the fabric at Leon’s back, knuckles pressing hard against the ridges of muscle beneath. His body acted before his mind could scream at him to stop, and suddenly he was clinging, pressing, holding onto Leon with a force that spoke of desperation, of something wild and raw and uncontrollable.

Don’t let go.

The thought burned through him, fierce and frantic, overriding the panic thrumming in his veins. His face pressed harder against Leon’s chest, like he could disappear into him, like he could become part of this impossible, overwhelming heat.

His grip tightened, nails digging into fabric, into flesh, as if Leon might slip away if he let even a fraction of pressure go. As if the second he loosened his hold, this entire moment would shatter, vanish into nothing.

His breathing came in short, sharp bursts against the solid warmth of Leon’s chest, the sound barely audible past the roaring in his ears. His body was on fire, his thoughts in shambles, and yet—

He still couldn’t let go.

Wouldn’t.

Couldn’t.

Leon could feel his own body taking on the shaking of Kyyre, it was being transferred across from him and vibrating through his own skin. It felt like he was going to fall apart, one more viscous shake and Kyyre was going to disintegrate from within his hold.

It wasn’t only his muscles that were contributing to the trembling, his lungs were fighting for their lives with something that bordered on hyperventilation. It made Leon’s heart lurch with panic, almost losing his grip to see if he was alright. He was kept in place by the feeling of arms snaking their way around his torso, fingers digging into the back of his shirt and dragging it up from where it was tucked in at his waist.

Leon kept his movements nonexistent as the knuckles of those fingers bent and curled into his spine, putting sweet pressure on the muscles that lined it. It was like he had all of Kyyre’s weight pressing into him, not only from the front but the clenched hands on his back left him unable to move. Not daring to even twitch a muscle. The pinch of nails through the fabric made his torso tighten, the graze not as harsh as he had initially expected.

However…what was he supposed to do now? Was this what Kyyre had wanted? Why he looked at him like that? All questions he wanted answers to, but he doubted he would receive anything coherent from Kyyre now. Not from the way he was clinging to him like some sort of life line.

He didn’t let his thoughts dwell on it for too long, this is what that feeling had been in his chest. The pull towards him that blazed the moment Kyyre had pressed his forehead against him. His skin felt like lightning, jolts ran up and down his form and made his fingers seize, frozen to the spot where they captured Kyyre’s flank.

He could feel the feather light sensation of Kyyre’s hair on his jaw, threatening to coax him closer and it worked. Carefully, he descended his head and let it rest wholly on his crown, the hair squishing up against his cheek. The soft breathing from himself disturbed the white strands, they occassionally brushed against the tip of his nose. From here, he was completly intoxicated by the smell of Kyyre. It almost produced a stronger sound that a hum from the back of his throat.

Hesitant eyes scanned over what he could see of the other heir, the almost frantic breathing was concerning him, even more than his own stabbing pain in his injured arm.

It took some focus, but Leon peeled his hand from his side and instead splayed his clawed hand on the small of his back. Letting his finger pads press gently into his back instead of pinning him to himself in the fevour he had displayed before. That didn’t mean his own body wasn’t begging him to throw caution to the wind.

He couldn’t do that.

Kyyre was higher than that, held on a pedestal. That was how he felt. He wasn’t the same as the others he had felt this kind of dedication to. There was something else that made his brain melt at the contact, keeping him malleable within Kyyre’s grasp. He wasn’t going to move any time soon unless Kyyre fainted or backed away.

The world around Kyyre dulled, blurring into nothing more than the steady warmth of Leon’s body pressed against him. The rise and fall of his chest beneath his cheek, the deep, grounding thud of his heartbeat—it all surrounded him, cradled him in a cocoon of heat that made his limbs weak, his head heavy. The wild buzzing in his veins hadn't vanished, but it had shifted, slowed, pulled him deeper into something else. Something quieter. Something dangerous.

His thoughts, which had been running rampant—spinning out, colliding, forming incoherent, frenzied patterns—began to fragment. They slipped away from him, distant and unreachable, scattered like dust in the air. He couldn't grasp onto a single one. He couldn't even make sense of them anymore. The only thing that remained was the overwhelming presence of Leon—his warmth, his scent, the way his arm was still wrapped around him, unyielding, holding him like he belonged there.

It was almost too much, yet somehow not enough.

Kyyre squeezed his eyes shut as if that could stop the slow, drowsy pull of his body sinking into the embrace. The heat between them had been suffocating before, unbearable in its intensity, but now it was different. It was sinking into his muscles, into his bones, seeping through his skin and curling around his ribs. It left him feeling pliant, languid, like the resistance had drained from his body entirely.

He shivered once more, but it wasn’t from nerves anymore—it was from the way his body was starting to give in, betraying him as exhaustion curled its fingers around him. His breaths, which had been erratic and short, were slowing, but they still carried a hint of that residual shakiness, pressing against the fabric of Leon’s shirt in warm bursts. His heart was still hammering, but it was growing sluggish, the fight in him dwindling as the comfort took over.

But the comfort was the danger.

Leon hadn't let go. He hadn't pushed him away. If anything, he had only tightened his grip, kept Kyyre locked in place against him as if he was something to be held. As if he was something precious. The realization sent a new kind of heat through his stomach, one that left him uncertain, unsteady—but still, he didn’t move away.

He should have. He knew that. He should have uncurled his fingers from the back of Leon’s shirt, should have stepped away, put distance between them before this became something irreversible. But his grip only tightened, fingers digging in, clenching hard enough to bunch the fabric. His nails grazed against the taut muscles of Leon’s back beneath the thin layer of his shirt, and the sensation made something coil low in his stomach, made his head spin.

But even as that dizzying realization flooded through him, exhaustion was pressing harder, dragging at him, making his muscles lose tension despite his stubborn grip. He couldn't let go, but his body had started to melt into Leon's. His weight was shifting, sagging ever so slightly, pressing further into the warmth he had no business seeking.

His breathing had evened out into something softer, heavier, his exhales quiet against Leon’s chest. His lashes fluttered against his cheeks, threatening to close entirely. He fought it, but it was a losing battle.

He was so tired.

He knew this wasn’t safe. He knew this was reckless, foolish, that letting his guard down like this was a mistake. But right now, in this moment, wrapped up in warmth, in the solid weight of Leon’s arm around him, in the steady presence of someone who wasn't letting go—he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Just for a moment.

Just for a little while.

His body sagged further, his grip still ironclad, unwilling to lose the heat, the contact, the feeling of being held.

There was the slow ebbing of energy coming from Kyyre, his muscles weren’t jittering with nerves, his breathing was ever so gently lulling into something that almost resembled peaceful if it wasn’t for the subdued fragility of each intake.

Leon remained where he was, the intensity of sensation that ran up and down his entire body was not going anywhere any time soon. It made his entire form throb with the firecracker energy that exploded in all the places where they were touching.

Then came Kyyre’s fingers as they rolled into his spine, pushing the fur there out of position and allowing pressure to rest on the muscles beneath. He fought to keep his hand steady where it was splayed against the other heir’s back. Everything in him was screaming to act, to do something. Anything.

The battle was going well but bit by bit as Leon felt the weight of the other man leaning into him, it was chipping away at his resolve. They were standing in an exposed hallway, anyone could trot by and see them. Leon would normally spit and snarl at anyone who came to interrupt, however…whatever was currently happening would absolutely put a target on both of their backs. Primarily Kyyre’s, as a way to send Leon into a flurry of emotional backlash where he would no doubt make a mistake and end up dead.

He did not want anyone to see. This was his.

Leon carefully craned his head back, leaving the space where his jaw had been pressed against Kyyre oddly cold. Sharp eyes carried around the hallway, surveying for any newcomers, he could hear in the distance the shuffle of chairs and mumbled words. The other heirs were finishing up, those who had not fled the night early. There were two hallways to their quarters and they were interlocked within one of them.

Leon’s hand twitched in his brace, he wanted to use it but the movement sent pain up the bones and drew a gruff sound of pain from him, wincing. Moving to his uninjured extremity, Leon gently pulled his hand away, but slid his fingers up Kyyre’s back until he reached his neck. Twisting around the to front, his claws grazed his jawline before Leon tilted his head back so that Kyyre was looking up at him.

He looked exhausted, like he had not slept for days on end. The way his pale eyes fluttered with fatigue caused another firework to go off in Leon’s chest. The hold on his jaw tightened ever so slightly, the finger pads pressing into the flesh, a tiny pin prick of nails accompanied.

“We should go, Kyyre.” He kept his voice even and low, only for the other man to hear. Despite the calm quietness of his voice, his eyes were bright and wide as he peered down at Kyyre. Unable to hide the cartwheels his brain was doing, the effect that this was having on his body. It made him want to ensnare Kyyre, bundle him up in some secluded place where no one else could touch him.

Was this why Astrid was always with him? Did he feel the same as this? Perhaps that was Kyyre’s gift and Leon was being played for a fool. It didn’t matter to Leon.

All he wanted to do was devour the man before him. Keep him to himself, it was overwhelming. It made his entire body feel as though it had been struck alight with the hottest flames. It made his eyes wired with electricity that he couldn't subdue. Whatever this was, it was intoxicating and Leon wanted more.

Breathing was proving to be increasingly difficult as Kyyre began to be seized by tendrils of sleep he had known would eventually come for him again. The soreness in his bones had made itself well known, the dull throb mixing with the fatigue from his cotton-filled head. His legs had nearly crumpled underneath him by the time Leon's noise met his ears, and at that point, he already looked more half asleep than he had before.

He lifted his head slightly, blinking in a dazed state at Leon's collarbones. Oh, how lovely it could be, if the world was perfect and he need not seek comfort in a cold, dark hallway. Yet, here he was, pressing himself into a body much larger than his own so roughly he almost worried that it might have been him that caused the sound to escape from the other man's lips.

Once the words finally both reached him and registered in his mind, his stomach was already twisting with anguish. But he understood, saw it in the way he glanced around, listening to the sounds of wood scraping on floor with amber eyes as sharp as a blade, the hue entirely enrapturing. The way he looked down at him like Kyyre was his world, like Kyyre was something he wanted, needed, instead of some throwaway tool. It was refreshing.

It was.. needed.

No, no, he did not want to go. He did not want to leave, to ever set himself free from the embrace of his arms, but if that was what Leon needed, he would go. He would go any day, any way he wanted—he’d do it, if he asked, just for this moment, just for many more.

And gods, how he wished there would be more.

“Go?” he echoed instead, his mind nearly caving in, thoughts crumpling like a pitiful piece of paper. “Where? Together? Now? Later?”

And that was the trigger to make his mind race again.

Right. Leon said go. Go meant walking. Go meant, ‘get off of me, I would like to move now’. Go was a dismissal. Kyyre was being dismissed. Wasn’t he?

Tremors wracked his arms and hands as he willed himself to lean back. Pull away. Remove himself from that warmth. And as soon as he was out, standing free, close to the wall, the tremors heightened. Loneliness. Cold. Why was he so cold? It was not cold.

“Go,” he echoed again in a small whisper to himself.

Ky hated that word.

Leon’s fingers had slipped away from where they had been holding Kyyre’s jaw, dragged free when the smaller man had stepped away after firing off his questioning words. He wasn’t exactly sure how to answer. He wanted them to leave, to go somewhere where he didn’t need to prepare to pounce on the next person that rounded the corner.

His tail was the first indication that Leon had spotted the way that Kyyre was returning to the fearful jittering, the way his body was rigid with tension from the separation of their bodies. His tail was stiff behind him, no longer swaying rhythmically from side to side. The fur was still laying flat along the extension of his spine, just resting there.

He wasn’t sure why Kyyre looked like that, why he suddenly looked so scared and small beside the wall. A small step towards Kyyre, eyes flickering from side to side as he observed for a heartbeat longer. Watching the one word drop from his lips was enough to make Leon lean forwards and wrap his forearm. He kept his grip light, the claws pointedly aimed away from his flesh so as to not cause any unwanted damage. Leon’s hand was firm on his muscle, just enough to make sure that Kyyre knew he was there, but not hard enough to put pressure on him that caused discomfort.

“We can go anywhere, but you look like you’re going to pass out.” Leon tried to justify his thinking, to convince himself that he wasn’t being driven by his impulses, that it wasn’t some part of him that wanted to hoard Kyyre away for safekeeping. That it was because he wanted Kyyre to be comfortable, that it was for Kyyre’s benefit not his own.

With that Leon began to stalk away, gentle with his pull on Kyyre’s arm as he began to lead them towards their quarters. Their footsteps echoed on the stone floor, each time the sound rang out Leon feared someone was going to burst up from the shadows. It made his skin itch with anxiety, made his tail needle straight so that it barely moved when he walked.

The entire time, he had to combat his thoughts, the sensation of Kyyre’s skin against the palm of his hand. That the entire scene before had even taken place was enough to make Leon’s nervous system borderline critical error. Leon’s purpose now was to get Kyyre into a place where he could collapse in safety. Even if that meant he had to leave him alone in his quarters, he would do that.

Not that he trusted the guards outside, but he needed to rest to heal his bones so that he could use his body as a battering ram again. To make sure his body was the honed weapon it was designed to be, a weapon he was now going to let Kyyre wield however he wanted.

Every part of him longed for something he was almost sure he couldn’t have.

Traffic in his head had slowed. For once in his life, the anxiety that was always in hyperdrive had calmed, dulled, made itself a peaceful, non threatening problem. And then he had to go and do that, say that, and Kyyre’s heart could be heard for miles.

His breathing picked up as Leon’s hand encircled around his arm, his mind and vision fuzzy as he was essentially dragged along. Questions. And, of course, the man with him. His brain could think nothing but “Leon” in the forefront and a million whys and whats in the back. What was he doing? Why was he doing it? Why had Leon held him? Why did Leon care? What were his motives? Why? Just..

Just why?

The pale heir stumbled along behind, shaking in his grip. Everything was way too loud. Footsteps, the sound of blood thrumming in his ears. His own voice in his head. Leon’s voice in his head. He might have thrown up if he hadn’t come to the realization that they were not going toward Kyyre’s room.

Instead, they were going towards Leon’s.

What could that possibly mean? What did Leon plan to do? What did he think this would help? Why was his hand so hot—gods above, his hand was searing through his skin—? Why couldn’t Kyyre stop thinking about how being in his arms felt? Why was Leon taking him back to his room? Why didn’t he warn him?

By the stars, why didn’t he warn him?!

He’d wanted to stay there forever.

Did Leon know that?

Kyyre let a squeak escape from his mouth as they came to a halt in front of the door, eyeballing the guards like they were something dangerous. Really, the way that his head and vision was spinning, they probably could be—even standing still, the distortion behind his gaze made it seem like they were jumping out at him.

He whined and leaned into Leon’s side, shaking.

He was so, so lightheaded.

The sound of their footsteps were still haunting his mind as he came upon his quarters, the guards barely gave them a second glance. Nibrookian guards knew he could handle himself, it was more for show rather than practicality to have the two guards outside. Their leather clad hands pushed open the heavy doors, dipping their heads to allow the pair of them entry. Leon had to ignore the way Kyyre was leaning against him, if he didn’t he was going to do something brash.

The room within was expansive, but it was so cluttered with items that it almost looked small. The walls were lavishly decorated with art, some even leaned against the walls. A collection of different styles, but all contained an animal of some description. The bed that sat against the far wall was made of a deep cherry wood, light swirls of colour running through the grain, dark heavy pelts of fur splayed across the mattress. There wasn’t a quilt in sight. Only a variety of pelts that covered the large bed, creating a patchwork of colours and patterns.

Leon made directly for that bed, confident in his steps as he guided Kyyre with him. Behind them, the heavy doors came to a close with a harsh thud. Then they were alone again and Leon’s tail snapped to the side.

“Here.” His voice was low as he turned on Kyyre, with a deft movement he dipped down and looped his good arm under Kyyre’s legs, lifting up with a small grunt. He lifted Kyyre up onto the tall bed and plopped him down into the furs a little roughly, unable to stabilise the landing without two hands.

Leon stood there for a moment before slowing nodding his head, deciding he was happy with Kyyre where he was.

“You should rest, you look exhausted.” With that he was turning tail and scampering off towards the bathroom. His skin was burning him alive, he needed to do something about it. Soon enough there was the sound of water splashing and clothes dropping to the floor.

Crawling into the cool water, Leon let out a sharp hiss as it stung his muscles. Keeping his injured arm out of the water, he let the cold seep into his skin and penetrate his muscles. Forcing himself to relax backwards, he needed to use his brain. To think logically, which was almost impossible for him to do under normal circumstances, let alone this.

It took him a good ten minutes to re-emerge from the bathroom, hair half wet and slicked backwards with a dark towel encircling his lower half. He didn’t look over at Kyyre as he padded towards an intricately decorated set of drawers and began picking through it. The water rolled in droplets down his back, their paths misguided by the divots of the scars that covered his body.

The fur that ran from his nape to his tail was slick with water and plastered to his skin, tail tip hidden beneath the towel, only the drops of water onto the floor indicated its presence.

Picking out a pair of boxer shorts, he stepped behind the small privacy screen, the panels were decorated with brush style art of Nibrook. A few animals hastily drawn onto the fabric, trees, paradise.

Leon appeared, now with dark shorts strapped to him, only then did he let his amber eyes carry over towards Kyyre. The same burning intensity was still within them, even if his body had cooled off his mind was the same inferno as before.

Kyyre’s mind was a haze, thick and unrelenting, as he stumbled into Leon’s quarters. The moment they crossed the threshold, his senses were assaulted by the sheer presence of the space. It was overwhelming, a world so uniquely Leon that it left his already scrambled brain teetering on the edge of collapse.

The room was massive—far bigger than he had expected—but it didn’t feel that way. The clutter, the sheer weight of personality packed into every inch, made it seem almost intimate. The walls were covered in art, and his gaze flitted over them, catching glimpses of intricate brushstrokes and masterful craftsmanship. Animals. All of them. A bestiary of motion captured in color and ink, some wild and untamed, others rendered with delicate reverence. The paintings bled into the furniture, blending seamlessly with the rich cherry wood of the bed, the furs sprawled in a patchwork of color and texture across its vast surface.

Kyyre barely had time to process the implications, to wonder what it meant—this deep attachment to nature, to creatures both feral and noble—before his mind began slipping again. His body swayed, leaning heavily into the solid warmth beside him, and for a moment, the world tilted.

Then—an arm. Strong, firm.

Kyyre’s brain blipped out of existence.

The next thing he knew, the world lurched beneath him, and he was airborne for a split second before crashing down into the thick, luxurious furs. His breath hitched violently, a strangled sound caught in his throat as he bounced twice before settling, his limbs momentarily weightless against the overwhelming softness.

His chest rose and fell in rapid succession, lungs barely keeping up with the erratic rhythm of his heartbeat. He propped himself up on his elbows, eyes blown wide as he stared at Leon, still dazed, still reeling. His lips parted, but no words came out—just silence, punctuated only by the thundering pulse in his ears.

"You should rest, you look exhausted."

Leon’s voice rumbled through the room, grounding, impossible to ignore, and yet Kyyre could barely register it. All he could do was watch—watch as Leon turned away, watch as he disappeared behind the bathroom door.

And then the sound of water. Clothes hitting the floor.

Kyyre let out a breath and collapsed back onto the furs, his arms splaying out beside him. His mind was racing. Questions tangled together in a frantic, incoherent mess. His stomach twisted, and heat pooled beneath his skin, relentless and unyielding.

What the hell was happening?

His fingers clenched into the fur beneath him, grasping for stability, for anything to hold onto. He could still feel Leon’s hands on him—the ghost of their touch burned into his skin like a brand. His mind wouldn’t stop replaying it, wouldn’t stop conjuring the sensation of being lifted so effortlessly, handled without hesitation. His heart hammered against his ribs, the tempo wild, unsteady.

He was exhausted, yes. But how was he supposed to rest when his brain was malfunctioning?

By the time Leon re-emerged, Kyyre was already spiraling, his body strung tight with tension, his nerves frayed to the point of snapping. He had barely regained some semblance of control—barely managed to stop shaking—when he turned his head and—

Leon stepped out.

Oh.

Kyyre’s body locked up.

The first thing he noticed was the wetness—water droplets trailing down hard muscle, following the curves of his torso, disappearing beneath the dark towel slung low on his hips. His skin glistened under the dim light, the deep scars carved across his back and shoulders catching in the glow. Each one was a story, a mark of something endured, survived. Kyyre’s breath stuttered.

Then—the fur.

Still damp, slicked to his nape, running down his spine, disappearing beneath the towel. His tail, covered but heavy with lingering moisture, sending droplets scattering onto the floor.

Kyyre’s brain fried.

Heat surged through him like a wildfire, flooding every nerve, every limb, curling up his spine and setting his lungs ablaze. His fingers twitched against the furs, his throat constricting around a strangled, half-formed noise—

"Hhah-"

His face was burning, his body was boiling, and he had completely ceased to function.