Must be lonely for your heart most days, then. [Cid tilts his head slightly, momentarily, holding his gaze.]

Then what about the rest of the days?

[Cid asks, but he collects Barnabas’ head into his lap like the dog he’s insinuating that he is. He runs his hands through his hair and his fur, feeling the new features on his scalp without invitation.]

…If it helps, I could tell you what my heart tells me, as I haven’t gagged it like an annoying prisoner. [Like you have. He softens his words by rubbing the soft velvet of his ears.]