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It started with a kiss. Innocent enough, perhaps. Certainly ill-advised given their circumstances.

But still, only a kiss.

It doesn’t seem fair for so small a thing to have such consequences.

There are so many reasons why that kiss was a bad idea. The least of which, they had both chosen to ignore in the moment; but the biggest of which, neither of them had any idea of at the time.

Thrawn groans, shivering and thrashing. He’s so cold, too cold; and his eyes won’t focus. Everything above him is blurry heatshadows and painfully bright light.

He is here. Somewhere. Near.

Thrawn can taste his scent on the air and he wants. He wants more.

He can hear talking, the words thrumming in and out of hearing like so much nonsense.

Thrawn tries to speak, tries to tell him, has to tell him. He figured it out, he knows what’s happening to him. But he can’t make his mouth form the words properly, and then there’s a voice again, closer, and a heatshadow leaning over him, and his heart leaps with relief and desire— finally— but no, it’s wrong, it’s all wrong— that shape isn’t him, the smell isn’t right .

There’s a sharp sting in his arm but it feels like someone else’s limb; it can’t be his, because that arm is cold and he’s so hot, too hot; so Thrawn ignores it and reaches out, desperate; straining, sweating, needing…

Everything goes dark.