The little compassionate bit of Draco that keeps his heart beating rushes to confuse and belittle him. When he looks at Dove, he knows one thing—and one thing only—to be certain: she is the only thing he has ever had. Not even Starsin, or Litotes, or their many half-siblings can be considered wholly his. Here, in front of all the most beautiful things Beqanna can offer, Draco is starkly aware of how little belongs anywhere except beside his twin.
It is gut wrenching, or even sickening; but he cannot think straight and most days he does not know right from wrong.
“I like it when you speak your mind,” Draco responds simply, nodding his head in a foreign display of sincerity. He feels alien offering a compliment that is not to further one of his interests—something in his gut tells him he must nurture what they have or he will be left with nothing.
And as much as Draco would like to think he is fine on his own, the vicious creature he is will never let him forget how afraid he is of being left behind. The fear sits in the back of his mind and comes to him in dreams in the form of his disapproving father. Dove’s kind—if most of the time dim—glow keeps him warm and grounded even when he is gone for days.
The waterfall crashes below them, the sound as loud as the disarrayed whooshing in Draco’s ears. He drags his eyes from Dove’s to peer out over the tumbling water and fluttering tropical birds.
“I love you, you know that?” he says just barely loud enough to be heard over the water.
