This has become a difficult situation.

Difficult for what? Yes.

Hazel protests, of course. It’s probably a protest. It was almost certainly supposed to be a protest, before he was smothered in softness. If you examine the muffled squeak, really dial into the bit where it trails off into near-inaudible mush, you’re bound to find some protest. Promise.

It’s [i]warm.[/i] It’s soft. Did he mention soft? It’s [i]so[/i] soft. Soft all the way down to the heartbeat pulsing against his cheek. And flowers. And spices. Not more intense? But. Different. Mingling. So, so [i]warm[/i]...

Hazel pushes away, of course. He almost gets far enough away to take a breath before Keli pushes him back in, pushes him [i]deep[/i], teasing his curls with her fingertips which just so happens to knead him in, in, in, and, and! Whispering [i]right[/i] in his ears, delicate little shooshes with an indulgent trill, and anything and everything he can say melts into dazed murmurs against her skin.

(He ran the numbers. A silly boy in close proximity to this foxgirl faced a higher than normal chance she will cuddle, kiss, or teasingly touch as the whim took her. He was right. It’s happening. Oh gosh. It’s happened, and it’s happening. (Creep.))

Somebody remembers that he can’t stay here forever. It’s probably not him.

“Abwuh…?” (He does not need to pretend very much.) Ah, it’s Alcideo who remembered. Good Alcideo. Good friend. Good support. Thank you for the shoulder, he’s lost track of his feet. 

Sorry, what was that? 

What?

What???

“Deugh?”

(He does not need to pretend at all.)

[i]“What?”[/i] His head is going to pop. His head is going to catch fire, and then explode, in front of Heron, and she will probably have to use some ancient relic of terrible power to put him back together again. “No. What? She? She doesn’t, no, it’s not, she’s just. What? Why? What?!”

And then, when the sputtering stops,

“Um. What…makes you say that?”