It's the movement that wakes him. He's not a heavy sleeper, and Clorad is uncomfortable using any soporific, even a light blanket kind. So when he sits up and moves away from the haphazard pile of pillows on the floor, not close enough to fall into any quadrant, Kurloz wakes up. Immediately, he feels the edges of his pan spread too wide for his skull, and snaps the door closed.
Clorad is watching him when he sits up, eyes wide. "Get out."
He blinks, stands, and opens his mouth to speak, but Clorad's voice is shrill.
"Get the fuck out of here." His throat vibrates, taught and damp sounding. "Get out!"
His fins flare, and Kurloz realizes that he's never seen them like that before, never seen them not pinned to the sides of Clorad's head like he's trying to keep them from being seen. They displace his hair, which is long enough now to brush his shoulders, the spines poking out pinkish and shining in the light.
Kurloz takes a step towards the door, but it's not a big room; Clorad is uncomfortable with the ostentatious palace he's been left to run, and usually likes to settle into a smaller office to spend time inside. He has to walk towards Clorad to leave, and it makes Clorad flinch, color rising to his face.
A pink mask, warning colors like Kurloz is a predator. His eyes seem distant, but focused. He raises a hand, just to shoulder level, and takes another step. "Kurloz, is. No other." He takes another step, and Clorad flinches again, back pressed to the wall.
"Don't fucking touch me!" His claws are sunk into his own thigh, the fabric of his pants threatening to tear under his hand, and he's shaking all over, little tremors that seem strangely disjointed. "Don't touch me, Dorize, don't fucking get near me!"
His tears are silent. He doesn't even huff out a breath, barely blinks, staring with a clenched jaw and wide eyes as they run down his face. Kurloz lowers his hand, and then stoops slightly, trying to make himself smaller. "Who is Dorize?" It isn't the first time he's heard the name, but Clorad is usually asleep when he says it, or so deep in thought he doesn't realize it. He'd made a wobbly joke while Kurloz shaded his portrait, that Dorize would hate this, but he never felt it was right to ask more questions.
Clorad doesn't crumple. Like a machine being shut down slowly, over the course of several different operations that let it go dormant, he slides to the floor, pushes his ankles out from under himself, spreads his knees, and presses his forehead to the floor. He doesn't sob, doesn't shake anymore, and doesn't speak for several minutes.
"I'm sorry." Kurloz says, for lack of anything better to say. "Would never my own self on yours impose knowingly, Clorad."
His hands creep up to cover the back of his head, but stop. Clorad looks up, his face still flushed with the same warning patterns, his eyes rimmed with deep tyrian, and he shakes his head. "You don't have-- You didn't do anything. I just remembered, I woke up and I could feel it--" He sits up slowly as he babbles, shaking his head as he rocks forward, then back. "I could feel someone else in my pan. And you weren't making me be quiet and not move or think but they're the only one who ever did it."
Kurloz, who has settled onto his knees as well, crawls forward. Luckily, Clorad's shouts didn't bring the guards. "I will never do that." His voice is severe, using all the timbre he would for a sermon, with all the passion one would have. It isn't anything he's thought about before then, but he knows that he means it. He knows that it's an oath he's willing to undergo. "Never. I will never go into your pan again."
His hands are stretched out, resting on the cold tile floor, and Clorad's settle on top of them, crooked fingers barely touching Kurloz's skin. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Kurloz. I'll get better." His voice isn't shrill anymore, but still desperate, edged with exhaustion. "I'm sorry. I still want to spend time with you. I'm so sorry."
Slowly, another mechanical movement, Kurloz pushes himself closer, until he can put an arm around Clorad's shoulders, and then the other. Clorad's arms link around his back, his face presses against Kurloz's shoulder, and he whimpers, the first sound of distress he could remember since they first met. Words spill from Clorad's lips in jumbled rushes, his breath hot against the skin of his clavicle, but he never moves away.
Apologies, explanations that trail off in the middle, promises that he's not usually like this. He mentions that Dorize was his partner; first, someone he went to for forged paperwork to stay off-planet, and later, someone he did everything with. His matesprit, and the only person who knew his status.
"They would look me in the eyes and I couldn't say anything. I couldn't move. Or if they were tired, they would just make me stay still. I couldn't make them happy otherwise, they only liked me when I was quiet." Clorad mumbles, shaking his head. "It only worked on me because I was weak. That's what they said. Ceruleans aren't supposed to be able to make pinks kneel, but they could."
The anger Kurloz feels is selfish and self-righteous, more to prove to himself that he is disgusted by it than because Clorad wants that, or even needs it. He runs a hand down Clorad's spine, hums tunelessly.
Clorad pulls himself out of Kurloz's hold slowly, but insistently, and Kurloz's knuckles click when he closes his hands to keep from reaching out again. "I'm not in any position to ask this, since I just forced you to listen to it all, but please don't tell anyone about this." He isn't crying anymore, but he doesn't lift his eyes. "I don't want you to feel like you can't say no to seeing me. I won't force you to see me. Or anything else."
Kurloz rests his hands on Clorad's where they're clenched into fists, his pink-tinted bones showing through the thin skin, and Clorad finally meets his eyes. "Please ask for me again."
