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Jory was doing what he could to ignore Zaire's bad mood. He'd very deliberately not mentioned it as they'd left Miss Winter's classroom, sure he had a fair idea as to why the mahamba was in a huff. But this wasn't Jory's fault. The boil had to keep reminding himself of that, least he fall back into old habits that would simply reinforce or excuse what had happened. That wasn't how things were going to work, not this time.

So he'd taken a seat beneath their favorite tree, setting the pair of juice boxes they'd just picked up from the cafeteria on the ground beside his leg, and opening the notebook he was still carrying, looking over the notes he'd taken. Back against the tree, he draped his tail over Zaire's(upset with the boil or not, he still loved him.), and began reading. Looking up only as a paper was thrust into his hand, along with a juice box, before he was forced to move his notebook before Zaire lay on it. This earned the larger boil an exasperated sigh, a small shake of Jory's head, but he did hold the box down at a convenient drinking level for a moment before setting it down so he could look at the paper.

"Oh." It was prom. Baby blues blinked down at the page as he read over the theme, lips pursing slightly. "Dark fairy tales." He read over the details, projected dates, activities, then lay the paper down on the ground beside their juice. After a moment, his hands lowered to dark hair, sliding through the soft lengths as Jory looked out over the lawn outside the dorms, features thoughtful.

His mind slid back to the night of the last dance, the Mad Science Party, and the barest flicker of a smile twitched on blue lips as he remembered the lake, the dance itself, and after. He hadn't expected to like dances much, or dancing, but he'd been pleasantly surprised. And then Zaire had surprised him with dancing lessons for scarentines...

With a small sigh the boil looked back down at his boilfriend, brushing dark bangs off his forehead.

He tried to keep his features as neutral as he was able most of the time, but there were times when his thoughts and his feelings reflected clear as day in baby blues and pale features. Now, as Zaire leaned into the soft brush of his hand, was one of those times. Jory's jaw tightened, and he had to swallow past the sudden forming of a lump in his throat. He didn't like cause the other monster distress, he hated it, but...

but. This wasn't his fault.

Was he being too cold? Was he just doing to Zaire what the larger boil had done to him? It wasn't exactly the same, but the resulting emotions were similar, weren't they?

Fingertips slid through dark hair, along the mahamba's scalp and the smaller boil had to look up and away for a moment, had to take a deep breath. Zaire's question pulled at him, and he pulled the elastic band from his boilfriend's hair, spreed it out over his lap so he could comb through it. Gentle, tender touches.

There was a very small flicker of a smile on his face as he met those glowing eyes. "Are you asking me?" He asked, voice soft and light, and he pulled one hand from dark hair, brushing the wire wrapped gear that rested at Zaire's throat.

Jory's eyes lifted into something thoughtful at the question, an exaggerated look, but only to mask that he really was thinking about it. Would he say no? He didn't think so. They were a little rocky still, but this was prom, and Jory really enjoyed dancing with his boilfriend.

He would have answered, but the boil took too long, and Zaire was shifting to wrap arms around his waist, leaning up to lay a soft kiss on his chin before settling again. It brought the smaller monster's attention down in time for Zaire to ask him for real. The smile that followed was a natural, easy thing. He needed to smile more, and maybe this was the perfect start. Maybe this was just what they needed to find their grove again. Jory hoped so, he really did.

Zaire looked almost terrified, and there was color rising in his cheeks. It made Jory's heart hurt to see it, and really, there was only one answer.

He gave the larger monster's arm a pat so he'd loosen his grip enough for the afanc to slip free, but he wasn't going anywhere. Instead he would nudge his boil back up and when he was sitting, back against the tree, the smaller boil would sink down to sit in his lap. It was the most forward thing he'd done since their awful night. Knees on the ground to either side of Zaire's hips, he leaned against him, arms draped over his shoulders, and brushed his lips in a soft kiss.

That would serve as an answer, right?

The smaller boil had been scared of not feeling anything with the kiss. It had been part, a small part, of why he hadn't initiated anything sooner. The idea was absolutely terrifying to him. That he could have loved this boil so much, and that love had faded. And no matter how much he said it, no matter how much he believed it, there was that slim, awful chance that he might be wrong. So it was a momentous relief when the brush of lips and the tight grip at his hips sent wings fluttering through his stomach.

Pale eyes gaze an unfocused blink as the kiss broke, and the smaller boil made a small, questioning sound at the question before it sank in. He bumped his cheek against Zaire's nuzzling against cool skin as he nodded.

As much as he'd been denying his boilfriend, he'd been denying himself as well. Something that was easier to forget when they weren't being intimate, but it all came crashing back now. And it wasn't just the sex he missed. Jory missed the cuddling, the the clinging, the feel of Zaire's pulse through his body when they lay together. He missed the closeness, and how carefree they used to be.

He missed Zaire.

Jack, please let us come back from this. A silent plea. Slender arms tightening around broad shoulders in an almost desperate hold.

Another soft sound, helpless and content, as large hands slid up his side before the larger boil was wrapping him up in strong arms. The purr brought with it a rush of goosebumps, smaller frame shivering as he turned his head to bury his nose in the space between dark dark and the back of the mahamba's finned ear. He wanted that earthy, misty scent. Wanted to pull it in with every breath. wrap it around himself like a comforting, familiar blanket.

Zaire could have what he wanted. Jory wasn't moving, not yet. He settled against the other boil's chest, legs shifting around his hips, and brought that long tail around to loop the both of them.

"I'm not going anywhere." Not now, at least. Zaire was making a real effort, Jory could see it, the other boil was really trying. He'd been remorseful, apologetic, kind, patient. He pouted, yes, but he never pushed. Never tried to force Jory into any sort of physical contact that wasn't given willingly. It had to be killing him. Hell, it was killing Jory. He could feel how much the larger boil's body missed him, but he wasn't acknowledging it. Neither of them were. Both content to sit quietly, wrapped up in each other again.

Months of barely touching. Of sleeping separately, and everything felt almost new again.

Less now than he had been, certainly. Jory whined softly as arms tightened around him, head turning press his cheek in against Zaire's, catching the passage of his breath against the edge of a long ear. It made him shiver, but not as much as the soft confession.

It sent butterfly wings through his stomach, something he hadn't felt in a while, even before they'd fought. That particular spark had mostly faded. It didn't make the words mean any less, of course. Now, now it was like the words were new again. Like everything was new again. Jory turned to brush his lips against a tanned cheek bone, eyes closing and he nuzzled against him. "I love you you."