The warm press of Tarn's mask slows Sixshot's licks as he turns his head to gently return the gesture with a nuzzle. He wished he could accept the thanks, but the fact of the matter was that he'd been mindlessly driven by the heat.

He's honestly not sure he'd have come at all if he'd been in his right mind. Not with prom night and the aftermath thereof still fresh in his memories. Not with his confession to being a traitor.

"You should go see Spinister after this," he murmurs, muzzle against his lover's audial. "Assuming he's not afflicted too."