[non-sexual acts of dominance](https://primarche.tumblr.com/post/186900274980/) | _not accepting_. > **[ defend. ]** your muse defending mine’s reputation, dignity, or safety for them.+ > **[ comfort. ]** your muse pulling mine into a reassuring hug.It feels misplaced. Alien. Doesn’t rightfully belong to him **(** —of all people, how could it. **)**Crimson cascades in droplets from her hair, her frame posed before him with swords raised to block the oncoming glass. _What good would that do_, it’d be better for him to have been at the front of it instead. But even so, how her reaction time seemed to outmatch his, how he only blames himself. He uses both hands to grasp either side of her face when she turns to face him, and in this moment is _furious_ with himself how he can’t heal her like he could before. Feathers flutter before concealing them both within, although the threat has seemed to have passed. **“Why would you do that?”** Gritting his teeth only does so much for either of them, **“You’re hurt. I could have taken it, and you—”** he breathes out a frustrated breath, but frustration is soon cleaved with the gentle tone of her voice as her hand reaches up in tandem to touch the back of his own. She’s smiling when she looks up at him. He still doesn’t understand. The stress that he holds in his fingers softens, tense shoulders lower ever so slightly, and there’s a tremble within him that overwhelms him. He’s not one to cry — he’s not, but even so, his eyes sting. He’s never been good at concealing how he feels, which is how he knows the expression he must have must be difficult to see **(** —even when she continues to smile at him, even when she continues to gently speak to him, even when her hand moves to press against his cheek instead. it has to be. **)**He allows for some light to come in through his feathers, but not enough so to reveal the both of them. The glass appears to be surface born, not deep enough to deal lasting damage, but deep enough to allow blood to pool forth for just enough amount to cause him to worry. She shouldn’t have had to deal with any of it. Time itself is immeasurable for him, he’s uncertain just how many seconds were used up with her taking them to whisper ’_it’s okay_’s and _‘i’m happy you’re not hurt_’s. But —**“Let’s go.”** The trembles stopped. **“We need to clean this up.”**He wonders if there’s a point telling her not to do that again.He knows even with saying it that she still would.
