Doe had made himself a nest in the wildflower meadow. Night birds hooted from the distant SpringClan trees; cicadas clicked in the long grass; sweet, cool, night-time air stirred the tops of the flowers around him, tall enough to hide him completely from view. Tall enough to disappear in. He circled round and round under the cool moonlight, settling down in the little cocoon of flattened flowers. Curling up, with the breeze whispering gently above him but not stirring his fur where he lay in the safe warmth of the stems, he let out a quiet breath, a long lungful of air that sounded so peaceful but carried such sadness. He was resigned to it; it had become a companion, almost comforting in its familiarity, its dependency. It was always there. Resting the tip of his tail on his nose, his warm breath trapped in that little space, he thought of Shadedsun. It had become his night-time routine, cycling through lost loves and lost lives, one per night. Never more than that, no matter how much he wanted to grab at other memories and lose himself in someone else’s imagined touch or scent or voice, intimate and sleep-drunk and low. He was greedy. He was childish. He was broken. But in his night-time routine, he had self control.

Then, a new scent floated through the flowers, settling over his fur and the quiet world of SummerClan at night. Doe’s head perked up, his ears pricking and his nose twitching at the air. His eyes widened, the pupils dilating; in the day-time, he was at a disadvantage - but in the dark, in the moonlight, in the sing-song silence, his perfect NightClan vision came to the fore.

Dragging himself to his paws, Doe shook off flower petals and scraps of meadow grass and pushed his way out into the twisting trails that led through the long grass. Flowers clung to his fur and behind his ears, remnants of his little makeshift nest - forget-me-nots, the heads of lavender, the petals of bluebells. He limped to the border, blinking as his gaze flitted over the tom waiting for him. Drawing closer, he stopped just this side of the border.

“Hywel,” he murmured, voice catching slightly. He blinked at him with an uncertain, uncontainable sort of quiet joy, awe, disbelief - he came all this way to see me, he came here… for me. A pang lodged in his chest as he remembered Chim doing the same thing only a few nights earlier. He pushed that grief aside. Stepping closer, he touched his nose tentatively to Hywel’s, still gazing at him with that same shy, tearful smile. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Two years ago, it would have been a cold day in hell for Doe to have sought comfort from a League cat. Now, here he was, offering himself up for the tiniest scraping of affection. No... That wasn’t true. Here he was, letting one see his soft heart and the tears in his eyes. Here he was, asking for gentleness.

“Territorial?” Doe echoed, his voice caught somewhere between a scoff and a purr. He tucked his chin into his throat when Hywel licked his forehead, going cross-eyed as he looked up at the damp patch on his fur with an amused little smile. A little more of his old personality flooded back in. His eyes roamed around the far-off borders of the other Clans as he spoke, his smile wry. “Maybe WinterClan. Maybe even FallClan. But SummerClan, for all their reputation of being insular, would turn a rabbit into a warrior if it hopped about politely enough. And SpringClan has always been too kind for their own good.” There was something odd about the way he talked about the Mountain Clans - an intimate understanding of them, a fondness, but at the same time an otherness, a certain distance; like an envoy who’d grown to love their place of assignment, but who was never truly one of them. Doe wasn’t aware of it himself, wasn’t aware that this wasn’t always how he’d sounded when he spoke about SummerClan. Once, it had been warm and close and loving - he was a SummerClan cat, or he desperately wanted to be. He’d worn that identity like a second skin. Now… It didn’t fit the same anymore. Now, he said ‘them’ instead of ‘us’ and didn’t even notice the mistake. Doe let out a rusty little purr, lost for a moment in the past as he gazed at the distant trees of SpringClan. “There was a time when Sh…”

He caught himself, looking momentarily stricken. He blinked, warring for a heartbeat with surprise and grief. Quickly, he reorganised himself, looking back at Hywel with a bright, apologetic smile. Though maybe that’s all just an excuse to say hello again - the words caught up to him, so disarmingly charming. Doe wished he could feel more thrilled by them. “Well - hello,” he replied, soft and flirtatious. His eyes were twinkling and shamelessly coquettish, the pupils blown and flooding the brown with black. He’d always been an incorrigible flirt and he was a little surprised how easily he slipped back into it - and even more surprised how much it delighted him. He hadn’t had a chance to use it in years, aside from the brief fling with Peachblush - and even that had been sobered somewhat by their mutual losses.

“I’ve been just dandy,” Doe continued, sweeping under Hywel’s chin to arch his spine along his throat and give him a little flick on the cheek with his tail-tip. He tried not to think about doing the same thing the first time he’d met Chim. He tipped his head back to meet Hywel’s eyes, his side still flush against the other tom’s chest. “So, what can I tempt you with? The birch forests? Unexplored lands beyond the orange grove? A little closer to camp, if you prefer the danger of prying eyes?” He swept around and leaned in close to Hywel, eyes on the ground as he breathed, “I’m very good at staying quiet.” His eyes flicked up, chased by a dazzling grin. Doe stepped away, looking out over the moonlit wildflower meadow before turning back to the other tom, his back lit by the moon, the whole of SummerClan sprawling out behind him, and something fearless and larger-than-life in his eyes. “Or somewhere else entirely? You must be starving if you’ve come all this way, but I’m afraid my hunting days are more or less over.” He resettled his broken forepaw on the soft grass pointedly and tilted his head, voice growing quiet. “Shame. I’d like to see you with blood around your muzzle.”

Doefreckle blushed, eyes widening as his inner ears reddened and his pink nose flushed a truly obscene shade of magenta, the brown freckles almost vanishing. He was the flirt. He was the one who said dirty things. He'd never really had it said back to him. He tended to pursue toms who were a bit of a challenge, who were usually embarrassed by his own faux-innocent forwardness however much they found they wanted it; it was his thing, to take the reins and pull them along. He was used to that game. Now, having someone who not only immediately stepped up to meet him but who went further...

He realised he'd stopped breathing, just staring wide-eyed and slightly open-mouthed at Hywel, and choked a little on his own spit as he sucked in a sudden breath. He doubled over himself, coughing and still bright pink. "Good," he choked out weakly, averting his gaze from the other tom until his cheeks stopped burning. Which... hadn't happened yet. "Uh - good. Yes. Fine." He let out a slightly manic giggle, still staring down at the ground. "Screamer," he echoed to himself, breathless and giggly, and went red all over again.

Struggling to pull himself together, Doe turned and angled his burning ears toward the birch forest in the far distance, the thin trees glowing white in the moonlight. "Forest," he said stupidly, and instantly started to internally kick himself - just absolutely pummel himself to the ground. "The, uh, the Deep..." Everything sounded inappropriate. "The birch forest is nice." He limped quickly ahead through the wildflowers, trying to put distance between himself and Hywel until he stopped short-circuiting like a giddy apprentice. He breathed out into the cool air shakily. "Idiot, idiot, idiot," he recited in a quiet hiss, entire pelt prickling with heat despite the coolness of the night.

Or you know, if you want to take me to the deep... "Oh, shut up," Doefreckle growled, shooting Hywel a soft, acidic glare out of the corner of his eye. Doe's growls, at the best of the times, were more like the harmless warnings of a kit than those of a warrior. He was still blushing fiercely.

Despite the humid midsummer warmth of the day, the temperature had dropped by nightfall; now, Doe could see his breath fogging pale and wispy in the frigid air and he shivered under the meagre protection of his short fur. It reminded him of the terrible day he'd gone to collect his daughter from WinterClan after... He shivered again, fluffing out his fur against the cold. He hated winter. When Hywel fell in beside him, Doe looked up at him, expression sombre as he listened. "Oh, I was..."

His first instinct had been to lie, to conjure up some rosy, easy untruth. That quickly crumbled away. Why lie? What was the point of making himself out to be something he wasn't? "I was getting ready to sleep," he replied after a moment, voice quiet and conversational, in an honest and subdued and faintly defiant sort of way; it wasn't conscious, not exactly, but he was challenging Hywel to pity him, to argue with him. He didn't want pity. "I struggle to sleep in camp nowadays. I was... Well, I was leader, you see, for a time, and moving back into the warrior's den hasn't been as easy as one might think. One might not think that at all, actually. It's the most bloody difficult thing in the world." His voice took on a hint of a growl in that last sentence; he continued to limp along, heading for the birch trees but not seeing much around him. "I was away for a while. A long while. I don't want to talk about it right now, if you don't mind, but when I got back the Clan had moved on without me. And so, now, I prefer to sleep outside. Near the SpringClan border, usually, for..." He trailed off. For reasons he wouldn't get into. God, he had a lot of secrets nowadays.

"So that's what I was doing." Doe looked back up at Hywel, smiling a quiet, lilting sort of smile that didn't quite reach his sad eyes. The SummerClan tom looked slightly silly now, toddling along with semi-stiff legs and his fur all fluffed out around his neck. Sweet smoke from the witch’s house hung over the meadows, the smell homey and comforting. He tried a bright, pretty grin. "This is much more exciting."

Doe limped along quietly at Hywel’s side, looking up at him and listening with a small smile. He didn’t reply; the other tom understood, or at least came close to it, and he had his own fears and pain - what was there to say? It was enough to be known, to feel that calm, cool comfort that came of understanding, even if their stories and their hurts were nowhere near the same. As much as he’d once fallen in love with the warmth and joy of SummerClan, now he found their tireless optimism painful and alienating; to hear something sadder, to know this tom felt it too, was... Doe was struck by the quiet urge to heal him. 

His question broke Doe from his silent reverie. He gave the cottage a quick glance but looked away again as soon as he saw what Hywel was talking about; he’d never held the same fear of it that the rest of SummerClan seemed to, and after the other cats had started to surmise that perhaps the witch had something to do with his resurrection, he’d become even more irritated by the place. It was just superstition. He opened his mouth to give a dismissive, disinterested reply - but then his expression melted into something mischievous and sly. “Oh, that?” he replied quietly, giving Hywel a foreboding little look. “We call it the Witch’s House - well, around the apprentices cats like to say it’s the Sunflower Cottage, but we adults know there’s more to it than that. Cats disappear there all the time - they’ll go out on patrol and get separated from the rest, or they’ll go out hunting at dawn or at dusk, and then when their friends go to look for them there won’t be so much as a scent, so much as a bent blade of grass.” By now his voice had dropped to the soft, intimate tone of a storyteller, eyes intent on Hywel and widening as he continued. “They just vanish, and all that’s left is a sprinkling of ash. Some say when you smell smoke on the breeze, like right now, it’s really the charred bodies of your clanmates you’re smelling.” He suddenly lurched closer to Hywel, giving him a big shove with his shoulder; Doe grinned up at him, eyes glittering. That was all made up - cats did disappear, supposedly, but Doe thought it more likely a fox or owl got them than a witch. If there really were trapped souls wandering the meadows, he thought it likely he’d have met them. “Just kit stories,” he purred.

In reality, the far-off cottage was a romantic sight on that night; there was nothing ominous about it, nothing bleak - its garden was beautiful and wild, the orange glow from its many-paned windows melting out over the wildflower meadows and colouring the mist like liquid honey. The sweet-smelling smoke from its chimney was soft and pale against the endless, starry black sky. He wanted to ask Hywel why there’d been a note of longing in his voice when he asked about it, but he stopped himself; they had the whole night for that. Doe gazed at it for a moment, feeling an unexpected rush of affection for the cottage surrounded by so much mystery. He let out a quiet, contended purr and looked away.

He had been leading them dangerously close to camp - Ratstar had made that ridiculous comment about rendezvous and free love; now Doe was challenging that, flaunting Hywel defiantly and mockingly - but now he veered away in a clearer line for the birch woods. It was stupid and juvenile, and no one was awake anyway; it was too cold to stay up sharing tongues or lounging under the stars. Doe had the sudden realisation that he was traipsing along with a League tom - the League, imagine. He must be more broken that he’d thought he was.

His mind wandered back to what Hywel had said at the border and his stomach did a nervous, buzzing little flip. He glanced up at Hywel, once, twice, three times, quick, uncertain little looks. Finally, he mustered up the courage. “Flirt with me some more,” he said quietly, looking at Hywel with a gentle sort of wanting. More shyly and in a softer voice, lowering his head and pressing his ears back slightly, he added, “I liked it.”

For the first time in weeks he was truly living in the moment, with unrestrained life and simple joy. His grief over losing Chim was still raw, but with that pain there was peace - they’d let go of each other, settled the past beneath a beautiful grave and spent one last night laying flowers and memories and love upon it in a quiet ritual only the two of them understood, however impossible the act of ever truly letting go of a love like that actually was. But now, walking under the moonlight with Hywel, with his beautiful blue eyes pale beneath the moon and the warmth of his body seeping through Doe’s fur, there was no one else he wanted to be with.

Doefreckle had been watching Hywel as he gazed at the witch’s house, admiring the other tom with that old familiar self-disgust warring with the growing shamelessness - no, the growing comfort in his own skin - he’d been slowly teaching himself. Do you believe in ghosts? The simple, innocent question caught him off guard and he barely stopped himself from flinching, sucking in a sharp, shuddering breath. Do you believe in ghosts, he asked the ghost. “No,” he whispered, turning his gaze away and limping on.

But then Hywel was looking at him with that wide, beautiful grin. Doe stopped, shyness snaking through him and chasing the butterflies. He tucked his chin into his throat, smiling back at him; the tips of his ears started to heat up again. He watched Hywel as he spoke, heart thudding in his chest at his bright eyes, his practiced charm, his accent, the kindness behind everything he did; his stomach fluttered treacherously. “I wouldn’t ask ‘what are we’,” he replied, voice no more than a strangled, stubborn breath; the breath hitched altogether when Hywel brushed their tails together. It was stupid and he didn’t understand why it was happening - he’d never been this much of a giddy little lamb before, never gotten so flustered, never felt like his fur was prickling with electricity, like every little word and movement Hywel said and made sparked through him. He’d always been the sure-footed one, the charmer; he’d never asked anyone to flirt with him before, and he’d never gotten so shaky when they did. It was almost frustrating, to have the script so utterly flipped, and he found himself pushing back against it a little. “I already know what we are - nothing but a fun little lark for a meaningless evening.” The words were prissy and biting, in a petulant sort of way, his face close to Hywel’s and his breath warm against the other tom’s muzzle, but there was no heat behind them, no cruelty; he was just flustered. His eyes followed him daringly.

But then Hywel was saying his stupid thing about the cookie dough and Doe was smiling again, a soft little dimple in one cheek as he rolled his eyes. He wouldn’t admit how cute it was. “I said flirt,” he replied, giving Hywel a last, undaunted look before brushing past him, “not woo me with poetry.”

He limped ahead, giving his tail-tip a single flick; they were just slipping beneath the milky shadows of the tree-line. As he led them into the wild, soft grass of the birch forest, filled with chirping crickets and illuminated by the moonlight, Doe paused briefly to pluck a smattering of snowdrops with his teeth. “For a game,” he explained over his shoulder, mouth full and voice muffled around the stems that were flooding his tongue with sweetness. Then, the second they arrived in a pretty little clearing—

Doe let the snowdrops fall to the grass, gently bowled Hywel over, and pinned him down, swift, sudden, quick; he looked down at him for a moment, head tilted and eyes sparkling darkly, before lowering himself down to lounge with most of his weight on the other tom’s chest, head bent to look at him and muzzles a breath apart. He flicked his tail up to curl around his own back paws, stretched out in the grass. His front paws were crossed neatly, just brushing Hywel’s throat. He was no threat, and he wasn’t heavy; his soft, languid muscles were built more for the pleasures of life than manual labour or fighting. Once, as an apprentice, he’d been lean and sleek; now he was just dainty. There was something gentle about Hywel, something obedient… It excited something in Doe he’d never known existed. For a moment, all he did was look down at the other tom, his smile thin and impish and his eyes hooded. Then, finally, he leaned down and breathed in Hywel’s ear, “ready to start?” He slipped off him. “I’ll go first.”

He sat back a little way away, drawing the snowdrops towards him with his good paw and easing half of them over to the other tom. “Never have I ever,” he explained in a low, warm voice. “Do you know it? The whole structure of it is a bit of an oxymoron. If you’ve done something, pluck the flowers off and push them to the side. If you haven’t, stay still. We take turns.” He smiled, tilting his head; for a moment, all he did was look at Hywel, boldly, openly, playfully. Then, finally, with a little smile, he declared, “never have I ever been with a she-cat.”

He stayed still for a few heartbeats, then finally severed the head of one of the flowers with his claws and pushed it to his right; his whole face was alight with amusement at the uncomfortable question, hardly blinking as he watched Hywel. “My friend offered to be my surrogate when I told her I was sad I’d never have kits of my own,” he explained, voice a soft purr of gentle laughter. “It was the strangest, most unnatural experience I’ve ever had.” Not unpleasant, he didn’t add; just... not for him. His father would be happy, he thought sardonically, and almost purred to himself; at least he’d tried it with a girl. He was still smiling, triumphant with his question. 

Doe's eyes brightened, feeling strangely proud of the fact he'd done something Hywel hadn't - he was going to get a good grade in first date games, which was both a normal thing to want and possible to achieve. It made him feel worldly and experienced in the face of someone who had come from far off, mystical lands, and that was what Doe had always wanted - not to just tell a story, but to be one. A good one. A fun, inspiring one full of twists and turns and a happy, gentle ending at the end of a long adventure.

Doe watched Hywel as he asked his question, eyes flicking expectantly, curiously between his face - his beautiful blue eyes; he had to drag his gaze away to stop his heart doing breathless little flips - and the flowers at his paws, waiting - surely he had. When still his paw didn't move, he tried to stop his brows from quirking in surprise. Surprise, and a strange happiness. His face beamed with a big, joyous grin for a moment before he managed to clamp down on it, still smiling down at his own paws; he couldn't stop himself purring and felt the insides of his ears reddening at it. He didn't know what to do with his own flowers, and he had the strange sensation of sadness, of loss, of confusion, despite the warmth in his heart and the purring he couldn't stop. He called Shadedsun his mate to himself, and he'd mentioned having a mate in passing during conversations, and he'd practically said it outright to Chim just a few nights before - but they had never officially said it. They hadn't gotten the chance; he'd only realised his feelings for his best friend once the other tom was dead, like two ships passing in the night. Never the right time.

Finally, he left his flower where it was and looked up at Hywel with a soft smile. It faded into something sadder, the purr growing quiet, when he said, "never have I ever stayed with someone who was bad for me." He severed the heads of half the flowers and pushed them to his right, still watching Hywel; there was now a whole little heap of snowdrop petals among the moonlit grass.

Doe listened silently as Hywel spoke, his good paw brushing back and forth over the remaining flowers without realising it. He recognised Hywel’s tone of voice, recognised the look in his eyes - hunted, but in denial. Dealing out too many second chances. He’d heard it rolling off his own tongue more times than he could count, had felt it cover his own eyes like a haze, like smoke, too innocent or too self-destructive to heed the warning cries - no, Flickerflame, this one’s different, he isn’t like the others. He couldn’t handle his own love affairs to save his life, but he could see abuse in the lives of other cats from a mile off, like a coat of ash they didn’t realise they were wearing. But he didn’t say anything. It wasn’t his place. The fact that Hywel recognised she was bad for him, or had the capacity to be so, was a start; but he had to get the rest of the way on his own. So, he stayed silent. Worried, and sympathetic, and with a heavy heart that understood more than he could say; but silent. All he offered was a small smile, sweet despite all its melancholy. There was a wisp of encouragement in it - it’ll all happen as it’s meant to.

And then Hywel was asking about his own story, so soft and imploring. And sitting there in the moonlight, with whatever this was between them and the whisper of raw confessions playing on the cold, fresh breeze, he wanted to tell him everything. Not the drivel about NightClan and a heart that yearned for more than Clan borders could ever offer him; the real everything, the everything that mattered. His death, that he’d been a ghost for two years, the misery of trying to fit back into an old life that didn’t need him anymore; his broken paw, Funk’s abuse, Chim, Shadedsun; everything. He’d only said it all out loud once before, to Chim. Everyone else he’d been close to had picked up the big pieces of the puzzle by mere association, or by mentions here or there; his brother had known the broad gist of the story, but not the minutiae or any names - partly he’d wanted to protect and shelter Flickerflame from that part of his life, partly he’d been too humiliated to admit another failed romance. Shadedsun had been much the same, though he’d obviously known more than Doe had ever told him, from somewhere - he’d spat it at him like poison on the mountainside, after Doe’s provocations had finally hit their mark. Almost everyone who knew Doe even in passing had heard rumours or managed to pick up a scrap of information here or there - he was sure all his new clanmates knew the stories; they followed him like pawprints. But as open as he was with his heart and his words - or as open as he had once been - he’d still never truly… gone into it. Confessed any of it, if any of it was, indeed, a sin. He still didn’t really think of it like that. Most of the time, he still thought of the toms who’d abused him with lingering affection and an enduring, tragic forgiveness - they must have had a good reason; he must have done something wrong; they were having a bad night; he’d annoyed them; they were kind, really; he’d survived. He was too kind for his own good, too soft-hearted. That was part of the reason why he’d started to struggle with self-hatred in the first place, with disgust - all that pain had to find an outlet somewhere, and if his heart wouldn’t let him aim it at those who deserved it, he was the only one left.

“I…” The words caught on his tongue. He stared miserably at Hywel, like he wanted to, like he wanted to more than anything, with all his soul. His jaw worked around words he couldn’t find a voice for. He finally closed his mouth, soft and silent, brows upturned like he was apologising, like he was saying ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry you’re out here with me, I’m sorry I’m such a ruin, I’m sorry you didn’t meet me sooner’, like he would have cried if he could have found the tears.

Finally, quietly, brokenly, all he whispered was, “I fall in love with the wrong toms.” He smiled, a small, sad wisp of a thing. He looked down at his broken paw; it was the only context he gave. The scars on his pelt were obvious that night, the fur that usually covered them, perfectly and self-consciously groomed, parted by his disturbed rest and by bowling Hywel over - usually he’d never go on a date looking so sleep-mussed. “That’s just what I do. I never know what’s good for me, or I do but I just… don’t listen. I don’t know.” He let out a breath; it sounded like a laugh, sardonic and full of self-rage. He wasn’t like that anymore - he wasn’t letting himself be - but the wounds and the tired anger still ached, raw as if he’d made the mistakes yesterday.

He raised his eyes to look at Hywel again, his eyes soft and sad. He wanted to touch him. He wanted to be touched. He wanted to go back to the harmless jokes, and he wanted to wander further down this dark, intimate path, less lonely with someone there beside him. He wanted. That was all that Doefreckle did. “Never have I ever been happy,” he said quietly instead, his smile growing into something dimpled, something warmer. He broke off a petal and pushed it to his right. “I’m not as sad as you might think I am,” he added, voice a soft purr and eyes swimming in the moonlight. “I just wish you’d met me when I was someone better. Someone… more. Someone who could be a fun night, or who could…” Make you fall in love quick as a sting. He grinned crookedly, life seeping back into his warm brown eyes. He used to babble non-stop, about anything and everything, un-self-conscious and glowing like the sun; he missed that version of himself. “Who could be the best flirt in the whole world. No cookie dough necessary.” He grinned wider, eyes getting all scrunched up as he let out a tiny giggle.

When Hywel approached him, Doe followed him with his eyes, chin raised a little to hold his gaze and watch as he closed the distance between them. When he licked his forehead, he still didn't look away, a small, fragile smile on his face. He tilted his head back when Hywel brushed under his chin, muzzle raised to the silver moon; his smile grew, a small breath of laughter escaping through his nose. He'd never had someone do that to him - it was his move, his thing. It was different, to be the one being courted, to be the one who could sit back and be quiet and deflect or receive advances - it made him feel older, wiser, more mature; and it wasn't really just feeling like that - he was all those things now. He'd always been the one to chase after toms, to skip about and offer himself up with pretty smiles and soft lashes and babbling monologues, dumbing himself down because toms didn't like clever boys and beginning to believe his own stupidity after a while; it made him both sad and relieved, to wonder if he'd ever find his way back to who he'd been. For now, part of him was enjoying being on the other side, the side that held a little more of the power. He could imagine this is how Chim might have felt.

Doe let Hywel fuss over him, in a way that he imagined was intended to be comforting but that felt a little closer to ingratiating. Yielding. He liked that, too. He looked down at where the other tom was still under his chin, his soft fur tickling his nose; his scent was warmth itself, still foreign enough to not have picked up the true League perfume - there was mist in his fur, other skies and other waters and other summers. I think I'd love him just the same. Doe almost bristled at that - what did love have to do with this? - but he didn't; part of him wanted to pull away and detach himself and run and go cold, the other part melted. The latter won out. His heart would always win over his head, and Hywel was imbedding himself under his skin very quickly. He softened for the other tom. A smile spread across his face. Got those big doe eyes that could melt my heart. "Is our whole relationship just going to be you making puns about my name?" Doefreckle purred, his own gentle breath brushing over Hywel's thick fur and warming his own cheeks.

He'd always just thought his prefix was another little dig at his effeminacy - why not name him stag, or deer, or fallow? Why doe? It hadn't ever bothered him - he'd always worn it with pride, because it was cute, and because he was stubborn - but it had felt like another nasty little joke of the universe's at his expense. It was stupid, and it was just a meaningless comment, but he'd never thought it might have something to do with his eyes, such a rare colour in a cat. He felt a sudden rush of affection for Hywel - gratitude, and fondness, and warmth, and just... liking. Soft and vulnerable and intimate. Doeeyes. It would've been a cute name.

And I bet the competition would be even more tough than it is now. "Oh, yes," Doe purred quietly, rolling his eyes. He couldn't quite remember how Hywel had gotten this close - now, he felt slightly dizzy, his heart thudding in his chest and making his head swim. The scent of him, the feel of him, the warmth of his body... He turned his head away, trying to get a little distance between them and a breath of cold night air to clear the headiness of Hywel's closeness. But the part of him that was trying to seperate from Hywel was small; the rest of him, treacherous and weak and hungry, was intoxicated. He wanted him closer, but he wouldn’t ask. Couldn’t ask. "I'm very popular with the she-cats nowadays, for whatever reason. I'm like... my love, you're very sweet, but I don't quite know how much more obvious it could be that I'm not into your sort." He let out a shaky little breath of laughter, still not looking at Hywel. He was trembling slightly, his heart thumping against his ribcage; all his senses felt heightened; the sounds of the night birds and insects and the breeze through the birch leaves above them were like the thundering crash of waves.