part11_04_You_can_t_help_yourself.txt

You can't help yourself.

The warmth in your chest, the affection, the sheer gratitude for this moment and this body and this person who knew what you were before you did - it all builds up until it has nowhere to go but out.

You turn toward him and plant a big deliberate smooch right on his muzzle.

He makes a surprised sound - half laugh, half something softer - and then he's returning it, muzzle pressing against yours with equal enthusiasm. His paw comes up to cup the side of your face, holding you there for a moment longer before you both pull back.

His eyes are bright with amusement and affection. *What was that for?*

*Just felt like it,* you tell him honestly. *You're cute and I love you and I wanted to.*

The expression on his face does something complicated and impossibly soft. *I love you too,* he says quietly, and leans forward to press his forehead against yours.

You stay like that for a while - foreheads touching, tails wrapped, the sun painting everything gold around you. No urgency. No demands. Just the two of you existing together in bodies that work, in a world that finally makes sense.

Perfect.