#rutgers

“I don’t…?”

"Don't want to do that kind of stuff." She murmurs into his hair.

"You just... I don't get scared or weird or... it's nice being touched. And not needing a satyr to not freak out."

"And I don't have to do stuff for you to still like me. S'nice."

He lightly strokes her arm where it wraps around him. "You know, I've... been seeing a therapist. It's not something to be ashamed of, I know... but it's still hard to admit. My mom suggested it, and... well, what can I say. Sometimes she's right about things."

"She's a smart lady."

"But you know, you are attractive. And mine."

She lightly traces her blunt fingertips against his delicate features.

"I'm yours... but I'm not attractive. You don't need to say that, just... because."

He is telling the truth, which anyone can see. His features which she may consider delicate, would be seen as weak, or sunken, his skin which one might call "pale" to be polite has an unpleasant, sickly hue, his hair is greasy even when clean and thin, too thin, leaving his face looking gaunt within, like an alien grey with a goth wig.

"Because I love you?"

He ducks his head a bit, half hiding the smile there. He can't help it, it came out on it's own hearing her words.

"Might be feelin' unseelie, but I'm still a Gwyd. Ain't gonna lie when I say you're beautiful. You'd see it if I did, I'm a shit liar."

"Say it again?" He asks, a bit shyly.

"You're beautiful because you look like Symon, and I love Symon. I love you."

"I don't think I can ever hear it enough." He picks up her hand which dwarfs his own, and presses cool lips against her palm.

"Well, I got years of not saying it to make up for." A smile at the kiss.

He draws her arm close and presses a second kiss against her wrist, just where the pulse beats. This one feels a bit warmer - perhaps his clammy lips were heated from her own skin?

She purples, and her heart flutters like a bird's wings. "And I like when you kiss me."

Symon nestles closer to Dagmar, drawing quiet strength from her warmth. After a long silence, he takes a steadying breath, his whisper blending naturally with the shadows around them, lit only by the flashes of the television playing softly across the room.

"Dagmar, there's… something I’ve been figuring out. You know how I always thought of myself as… well, as someone who didn’t feel the way most people do about, um… closeness," he says, cheeks warming as he hesitates. "But lately, I… I’m realizing it’s different with you."

His hand finds hers, trembling slightly as he continues. "It’s not… it’s not about wanting it the way others might - being motivated by attraction, or lust? It’s just that… I feel safe with you. And… maybe because I love you… there’s something lovely in being close, even… even like that."

Symon’s words trail off, but he braves a glance at her, searching for understanding in Dagmar’s eyes. "If… if you wanted, I’d… I’d like to be closer. To explore what that means for us. Not out of… need, but because it’s you."

He drops his gaze shyly, "...if that makes any sense at all."

The little bird rustles it's ragged wings, but doesn't interrupt otherwise.

Her eyes light up and she nods.

"I didn't... I love you, and wouldn't ever... wouldn't ask, ever, for anything. I wouldn't."

"But.. but if you wanted?" She swallows and nods. "I wouldn't be afraid. It wouldn't feel like... like.. it wouldn't feel bad, like something was being taken."

"I wanted to make sure we talked about it before Samhain... because I know it can be easy to... let go of inhibitions, when unseelie... but... I wanted to know we understood each other... not something we might forget and wonder."

"I want you, in whatever way that happens." She nuzzles his hair. "Don't think I'm gonna turn all Death By Snu-Snu just because it's Samhain."

"It seems silly... that I needed a therapist to tell me this. Though, you know, she didn't actually tell me anything. I guess that's Dr. Tortelli's schtick? She just asks questions... and makes you think about the answers. I guess that's how she gets around her... y'know."

He realizes he has left out a key factoid. "My therapist, that is. She's a pooka. Is that... weird? I wasn't sure at first."

"Pooka are easy to talk to."

"Hard to listen to, cause the pinging, but easy to talk to."

"I won't ever do anything you don't want. Not like that. But if it feels right? Sometime?"

He nods, his hair tickling where it trails on her arm. "With you, and between us? I think whatever we do, or don't do, would feel right." And he does believe it.

A happy sigh. "Yeah." She kisses the top of his head.

The bird trills happily, and settles down on Dagmar's head. While it is a chimerical creature that doesn't do untidy things that a real bird might do, she may find that she has a knot in her hair the next day where it happily made a little nest, with little ragged shed feathers stuck in some of her curls.

A small annoyance, well overshadowed by other merits.