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[ic] i'm outta bullets so fuck it, i use my knife
She seemed to be relaxing. He didn't like seeing her so troubled - it made everything else seem dark, sorrowful. He was conscious of the wapsed covers and pillows, wishing he had made them neat and tidy for her. Kansas moved around a lot in his sleep - he found himself almost humorously hoping this wouldn't become a problem tonight.
The creamy boy didn't need her to tell him anything she didn't want to say. His eyes were bland save for concern. Kansas hated when others pried, hungry for his thoughts and worries as if they were so vital to hear. Not too many wolves were interested in his emotions, but there were some occasions... In any case, he didn't wish for her to think of him that way. He was just there if she wanted him.
But she told him anyway. Her dream was frightening - he couldn't help but grow a little nervous toward the idea of Conri returning. Conri had every reason to hate Kansas, but the boy knew for sure that if Conri wanted to kill him, he could with no problem. The Sadira tried not to show her these fears, keeping his eyes placid as he squeezed her hand. He could see how much she cared for him. He'd never had someone care about him this way before; this brand of her affection seemed exclusive to him.
Nothing's going to happen to me. I promise. Kansas thought a moment, easing himself down into the nest of cloth and pillows beside her. He won't... come back. He touched her cheek, tracing his fingers from her muzzle to her ear, adoring everything about her face. About her.