It would seem indeed he has little desire to continue to listen to her words, the tone with which she offers them, new, changed, that alone seeming to hold his focus as she murmurs once more upon the memories of the night that had changed the existence of the once inseparable trio. His own memories of such an evening are limited in themselves, by fate or chance, for whatever reason it had been that night alone he had not chosen to sleep on tetra's floors that night, or upon the foot of his bed as he often did. For one night alone he had chosen to adventure into the early hours of the morning- his return to his adoptive home finding little more than ash and ruin and panic. He had picked through rubble and destruction for some hours, searching for any sign of his own chosen Alpha or his 'family', haired plastered to his face with rain, bare feet long since having lost feeling from the cold as he called for his companion, no one truly seeming to notice the shadowy boy who locked so very lost as he searched under broken wood and brick, as if he believed he may find Mom or Dad or Naddy or Aiden merely hiding beneath it. It had been perhaps, the first and last time he had cried and he has no desire to remember such a thing, her words met with little more then a dismissive snort as that dark gaze offers the barest slighter of some emotion that cannot be readily identified. It is a conversation better left not had, a night none of them would ever truly recover from. He does not believe such things of Naddy, not truly, he simply seeks to hurt her with the words he'd offered, that desire ended with her flood of tears- his confusion in this foreign reaction seeing his anger simmer some.

His head tilts delicately to one side once more, seeming so readily fascinated with her tears in this moments, his features so very child-like, so very gentle in comparison to what they had been as she moves to demonstrate her own unique power, gently wiping the water across her cheek, her wounds healing so very readily. Indeed, if not for his intense fear of liquid in any form he may well have been content to try it for himself. As it is he merely recoils slightly, mind struggling to perceive this notion of healing as he briefly returns to his own wounds, content to lick them thoroughly once he returns to his cat form, the only manner of healing he has ever truly accepted as being correct, the young man so very attuned to the animal within, living upon the delicate edge between cat and man and while indeed perhaps this has resulted in his becoming the very creature he is- it is not without advantage, the boy a rather exceptional example of a male in all regards, his senses and abilities unlike any other, a dominant force to be reckoned with despite his....unusual mannerisms.

"Crying."

He simply repeats the word, committing it to his own memory as he moves to brush at the water that continues to run down the plans of his chest and side, features contorted in disdain at having to touch the droplets at all, hurriedly moving to flick them from himself, evidently still remaining oblivious to any need to cover any part of himself as he seems to notice his clean appearance for the first time, his dark hair rapidly drying within the sun and yet- with its washed appearance the true texture of those dark locks finally becomes apparent. Free of the dirt and grime that had clung to it for so very long his black hair is finally content to show the true matte black of it's tone along with it's impossible thick softness, that shaggy mop perhaps his best feature- at least, when it is clean enough to appear as such. It has been rather some time since he had been so very...spotless and as such he seems to take some moments to examine himself, much as Nadya does, oblivious to the girls attentions in this as she wipes again at her cheek and he finds himself once more captivated by this delicate, feminine gesture. He moves to shift slightly once more, brushing a few loose strands away from his eyes, those fathomless dark pools turned upon the floating assortment of leather within the pool though he is hardly displeased to be rid of it, lip lifting slightly as he moves to speak- before a very distinct change within the air sees his head snapped back towards the girl.

He has always liked Nadya's scent, some instinctive part of him drawn to her natural femininity, her similar dark features and the bond of pack between them readily seeing him tolerate her presence and touch, more then one night spent wrapped around her in sleep as cats are so want to do and yet it would seem within that moment his entire demeanour is given to shift, the appeal of the woman seeming to accentuate as his liking of being closer to her becomes a very near craving of sorts, instinct flaring into life with a sudden ferocity. He is already close to her and yet in that moment her scent seems almost overwhelming to him, that decidedly male part of himself, that animalistic part pushed past that decidedly human barrier that sees him pause each time he lingers upon the very edge of discovering his own desires in this. His fingers lift ever so softly to touch her arm, dark eyes widening slightly in surprise perhaps, at the sheer softness of her skin, warm despite her recent swim, the feel an appealing thing that seems to bring a passing smile to his lips, fingertips content to explore this new sensation. Small as it is, such a gesture is further then he has ever dared to go and yet he is seemingly satisfied with this, content, instinct continuing to push, to drive this need to be closer to her, the girls own power forcing back his own...insecurity in this, offering that animalistic desire no barrier to contend with. This flood of desire however, is not without it's side effects, that frustration he seems to feel with all women for his inability to understand what is expected from him seems to mingle more readily with the tendrils of anger that still remain, resulting in some form of determination all the same. He does not understand himself, what he is doing, what he wants and yet he is utterly assured he is moving in the right direction as those long fingers suddenly and rather commandingly grip the rim of her towel, pulling her against himself- as close and firmly as he possibly can before his lips find her own in a highly possessive, fervent kiss, that holds as much animalistic need as it does command.

He is content still- it would seem, to take exactly what he wants, when he wants it, relief seeming to find it's way into his system with this single gesture, other instincts readily beginning to flare to live, stirred into wakefulness by the woman's own powers as he finally pulls back from her.

"I'm not.....sorry."

Whether he means about the fight- or the kiss, is painfully difficult to tell, those dark eyes beginning to hold an entirely new look within their endless depths as he stands so precariously upon the edge of finally understanding his own needs. He is anger with her still, frustrated with her, the wounds she has given him still stinging , his kiss having held a roughness to it all the same and yet really, unless she sees fit to push him away, he is determined to explore this new found desire entirely.

madness, as you know, is like gravity: all it takes is a little push